Clinic walls whisper, they hiss with tales untold,
pulse racing in the silence, in the corridors so cold.
Eyes darting, searching for truths
in the plaster cracked and old,
every shadow’s a story, every silence a secret sold.
Rage boils beneath the veneer of calm,
an unseen storm, a relentless, pounding psalm.
Explosive outbursts in the night, a destructive balm,
in the quiet aftermath, finding no peace, no calm.
I walk through a minefield laid bare,
each step echoes a scream, a scare.
Reality blurs, do I dare
to face these ghosts, am I aware?
The whispers turn to shouts, the room begins to spin,
hallucinations vivid, under the skin they grin.
A touch that wasn’t there, a creeping, crawling sin,
locked in a dance with shadows, can never win.
Desires twisted, fears entwined,
in the darkest recesses of the mind.
Searching for a light, a sign,
in a world unkind, where lines align.
No lullabies here, just cold whispers of the past,
every heartbeat a reminder that nothing’s meant to last.
In this theater of the mind, I’m both the cast
and the audience, where shadows will always last.