The Red Carpet Treatment

The first thing they take
Is your privacy:
Bathrooms without locks,
Rooms invaded hourly,
Bags searched on entrance.

Because this is the red carpet treatment
And the first thing they take is your privacy.

The second thing they take
Is your freedom:
Groups that you must attend,
Your room locked as they wish,
A thousand petty rules to obey.

Because this is the red carpet treatment
And the second thing they take is your freedom.

The third thing they take
Is your ownership:
Confiscating mobiles, laptops,
Any gate to the outside world;
Taking from your room as they see fit.

Because this is the red carpet treatment
And the third thing they take is your ownership.

The last thing they take
Is your mind:
Endless ‘how do you feels’,
Pills to ‘calm’ you,
Forcing you to surrender
To their prying eyes,
Moulding you
Into their view of how you should be.

Because this is the red carpet treatment
And the last thing they take is your mind.

And only now I see –
Now, when all the doors are locked –
That the pillows are soft with screams,
The walls blue with tears,
The carpets red with blood.

But this is the red carpet treatment,
They say it will make me better;
And I do want to get better –
Don’t I?

‘Depression’ was the diagnosis;
No one called me mad.
But if I wasn’t mad before
Then this place will make me so.