The mind is an asylum to itself.
A silent single colored room.
Bare until a guard, the thought, walks by.
His cell neighbor is the idea, another crazed patient.
Tormenting him, making the room pulsate.
But the mind just sits in his bed rocking.
Back and forth.
So many rules, so many thoughts.
It cant say what it wants.
More and more thoughts.
But the mind worries about what
The headlines will be from the other
Asylums around it.
The mind aches.
Terrified of itself.
Ideas in the neighboring
Cells continue to torture it.
Then another thought stops,
And teases him.
But finally, the mind screams...
And a word leaves the asylum.