Monday, April 23, 2012

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

No comments:

Post a Comment