It's still here, silent, my pounding headache slightly less painful
The door shut, with just a bit of light sliding through the window
A bare, deflated mattress on the floor as my only companion
I don't know what I expected, but it's not as bad as I had thought
I feel finally able to hear my own thoughts
free from the chatter in the common areas
The same questions over and over
"Is it med time? Is it smoke break time? Is it dinner time?"
People bicker because there's nothing to do
Everyone wrapped up in their disasterous mental health
yet still forced to interact with others
Make bracelets out of beads
Sing songs off key
Watch whatever the person who hoards the remote puts on
Complain to techs
Complain to nurses
"When is my doctor coming to see me? He hasn't seen me yet today?"
The same questions, the same answers, the same strained grip on the concept of time
the day drags on and on and on
bleeds and blurs together, like a watercolor painting
Have I been in here a week, yet?
You may be curious, what did I do to earn solitary?
Well, I had an adult tantrum.
I slammed the door, sobbing, because the dark man keeps haunting me
They said I just need to calm down
Now I feel like I'm floating
I sit on the mattress, and I don't cry
I do feel calmer here.