Lock the door, throw away the key,
You’re safe outside, not here with me.
I’m happy inside, an empty room, all alone,
Theories orchestrated, debated, ideas grown.
A den of defiance, stable of sublime,
Parlour of perfection, study of mine.
It’s not empty, but full of inanity,
Crazy actions, teetering on insanity.
Loud funky music, frantic shouting, hushed whispers,
Intoxicating aftershave a mix with smells of misters.
Copious coffee and tirades of tea to my cell,
Sweet chocolate snacks add to the belly swell.
Words on scraps of paper, notepads, books full too,
Fingers tap on computers, screen edits, always new.
Muse, drafter, writer, editor, critic, they’re all near,
Nice to meet you, see you, touch you, steel you, and hear.
Although, I’m alone in my asylum, there is no-one else,
Only me, not lonely me, just me and I and myself.
Edited from an Original Post on:
Scribblers Forum Thread – Flash Poesy 116 – Welcome to the Asylum