As it seems, reaching out burns a hole through selfhood
To a vision as clear as the thick clouds are dark.
But the scene is an empty one. People aren’t there
To confirm the impression that life isn’t fair.
Am I this ill-prepared for this image so stark?
I’d behave in a safe way if only I could.

Need I show that to others I make little sense
With a lot of poor acting? Again, there’s no one
But a faceless commander of keeping contact.
So, I’ll not reexamine the way that I act
Out of sheer desperation. What now has begun
Is a certain death spiral. Do I take offense?

Do I feel so much hatred and heated mistrust
That by default I err in demanding good care?
I can’t act like a slave. I can’t learn to tap dance
To the tune of a master. This was my last chance
To be meek, then be treated. Now I must beware
That whatever becomes of me is not unjust.

Older folk are a nuisance when they misbehave.
It is best when they’re docile and do not complain.
They must speak in a manner that does not offend.
Doctors say I’ve no illness and want to pretend
But I’m not like the normal. Indeed, I’m insane
And one episode closer to reaching the grave.