I wrote the first piece years ago......the second piece days ago.....theyre sort of connected though...... _____ A man disguised as someone who cared, asked questions, to figure out the mess..... that was me. (There to stay) (at least for awhile) I mostly played the piano. The keys were a little off. I liked it.... because i could realate. Outside the walls at night talk was cheap. I sat in the room that was my room on the bed that was my bed and read cards and letters from those who cared---- afterward. Slept in again, missed morning excersises refused to eat....... shes not right. (There to stay) (at least for awhile) why are you here? youre so pretty..... pretty people are allowed to lose it too. visitors i refused except for one, big mistake..... misplaced anger and my head no longer hung brightly. eat right, only sleep when told, one cigarette every three hours, smile, get dressed, dont wear that stupid gown all day..... get out of this place get out of this place should have stayed---- the ride Home shook the flesh from my bones, (here to stay) (at least for awhile) _____ Maybe I should call this place home. I was only here once before, but everything is so familiar. . . almost a diary of my life in theses walls. . . I played the piano again, the keys weren’t off this time… or maybe I’m not. I thought I needed him to fill the hole, but he didn’t make me feel whole. It still made me cry. . . So I had to run to my room and hide from that guy who pretends to care. In my room I could hear the crazy lady again. I didn’t like to look at her. . . because I saw my reflection. So I stayed in my room and looked out the window, Admiring my nice view of the hill where God must have sat after he created the rest of the world. The visitor came again to give me my ammunition (paper and ink pen) Because of him, I can make love to the world. I gave him his rib back. . . I dont need it anymore. And my head hangs brightly. . .