The Facility

The Facility

The pharmacy is littered with screaming clowns

Here I sit in my own filth rocking back and forth

Watching the fuzz from a flickering TV screen

All four walls white with nothing but a camera

Peering into my skull…they watch me

There’s a man in the hallway stampeding to and fro

Drooling and snarling out garbled words

That sounds like mutated hell spawn preaching

There are fat bulbous women prowling the halls

Pencils scratching down the daily routines

They’re dressed in white with needles for claws

Injecting comatose serenade symphonies

Into my hip…to keep me from shattering glass

And escaping this night of endless misery

I watch them stare vacantly with mouths gaping wide

Bloody bandages hiding cuts on his wiry arms

The smell of cheap coffee and the scent of aerosol

Mixing to drench my face in ferocious suspense

I crawl under the blanket and hide my crumbling face

Into the depths of hell I want to scream

This must be some twisted horror of a dream

The doors are all locked and the voices collide

Like waves they break upon the shore of my being

I look out the windows to a world sublime

Inside this facility of lithe hollow souls

Yammering into the substantial mix of surreal

This is the last stop before they drill a hole

Into the walls so you can see the festering halls

Never-ending these hallways stretch on forever

And I am here docile in this madness quavering

Hoping that the shattered pieces of reality

Are reconnected to form the semblance of cohesion

I lie here blockading those who would intrude and listen

Those stealers of thoughts and dreams

Those that hide in the dark

Beyond the eye’s reckoning

Copyright Adam Gaile 2012