Room 49

poem by: Chel Scott
Written on Aug 16, 2018 

Clutching at reality,
until my knuckles are white,
round and round in my head,
I swear, I'm not quite right!

I daydream all the time,
imagine I'm from another place,
I have delusions of grandeur,
like I'm made of silk and lace.

It's all stars and unicorns,
where the insane go for free,
where I'm married to Tom Hardy,
fuck, why fight for sanity?

One day, I may wake,
and see reality is quite glum,
until that happens, I'm happy here,
in room 49. The Asylum.

 

Tags: Humor,

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