the Willard

I'm Going to the Willard (March 1 2008)

Came in May 1860 with a ringing in my head

By 1866 I was dead at the Willard

This is my story, the life I led

A silver coach dropped me

Off at the dumping ground

Wearing nothing but a long gown

This place is dangerous

As nails and boards

Fly out at me

My hands are callous

Trying to flee

By crawling on the floor

Walking up and Down the halls

It never quiets nor stalls

nothing like having a demon

Inside you screaming

Against your will

At 3 AM

The walls ring out a tune

of dark and black

Drowning in my fear

Of losing myself at the Willard

My cries My screams

Are silenced by a pill

It sits and dissolves

Chaulks up  my tongue

Gazing out the window

I count the headstones

So I'm going to the Willard

Where the rooms are big

And the head posts are tall

I'm going to the Willard

To drink whiskey with the men

And dance the Charleston

So here I lay

I've gone to the Willard

To go play dead