Cold metal bars block out the sun,
Soft white pads cover the walls,
Doctors in white coats
Take notes
Down the halls.
Watching me,
My every move,
Daring me to try,
In my straitjacket
That others call my life.
Nothing to do all day
Except sit here and stare,
My hands aren’t free
To run through my black hair.
As I drift away from the Sane,
I look up at the glass.
If I look hard enough,
I can see them looking past.
Past my eyes,
Past my mind,
Looking at my soul,
They would look past my heart too,
If it weren't a black hole.
Broken so many times,
So this is how I feel inside.
My life,
The Asylum . . . .
Patty Weingart is still a student stuck in Connecticut hoping that one day her writing will be her escape. She wrote “My Asylum” in the hope that other people would finally understand how she feels. She’s been thrown aside and cast out her whole life. She’s not looking for sympathy, she’s just hoping for acceptance. This is definitely not the last time she will be writing for the GothPunk.com(Munity).
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