Sanity of Insomnia

I sit upon my cell room floor,
Just staring at the oaken door.
Shaking, shivering, whispering, crying.
A babbling wretch; my mind is dying.

Mad! They shouted as the pushed me in,
Betrayed myself, my only kin.
Such harsh and cruel, the voices speak.
An outlet I set forth to seek.

And now I sit upon my floor,
Watching, waiting at my door.
Sitting, leaning on padded wall,
Bound by jacket, locked on call.

A slave at mercy to my doctor’s call.
The voices ‘held back’ but not at all.
They seek their peace from mind so mad,
Such thin streaked sanity, I once had.

So now I sit upon my floor,
Crying, scratching at my door.
Hoping, praying my freedom’s bound,
My broken mind they have found.

But such a day it cannot come,
My old life is but done and done.
My frame of peace is all worn out.
My door is opened! My life means nought.