I spoke to the judge, and what did he say?
“You stay here, and I’ll make hay”.
Patiently, I do reside, on a ward bona fide.
I spoke to the nurse, and what did she do?
She talked and listened all day through.
I am here and I am glad,
Now that I’m not very mad.
I spoke to the shrink to make a link,
Between his words and his ink.
Time goes by endlessly,
Fleetingly incessantly.
Messages are hard to find,
For the truth and its kind,
And their maxims are so sad.
Get the message? I’m not mad.
I spoke to the staff about my stay.
They said, “You were ill, and now you’ll pay”.
They can’t hear, and they are blind,
To messages that they can’t find.
I’ll endure, so they can stay,
The whole duration of their pay.
I spoke to the brief to find what’s beneath,
The annals of justice and its teeth.
I even took their medication;
Now it is time for my probation?
Yes, it’s time for platitudes:
Nursing staff with attitudes!
Is it time to wait some more?
How I wish to break down the door.
I’ll be fine, so let me go.
You can ask, but we’ll say, “no”.
You are in a dead-end zone,
So, you never shall go home.
You stay here! You shall remain.
That is very clear and plain.
But my mental constitution,
Is not of your institution.
My thoughts are clear; yet I am here.
This may be true, but you appear,
To be a hood: like our man.
You were mad; so yes we can
Deliberate. You can’t get out:
Not even if you scream and shout.
Although my memory is quite hazy,
I’m sure that I’m no longer crazy.
Yes you are! And that’s the truth.
You are vulgar and uncouth.
Okay, so you’re all I need.
I’m a nettle and a weed.
You scare off people coming forward,
With symptoms against wider mores.
That’s the danger. I’m no stranger,
To treatments in your holy manger.
But out there, are all the needy,
To be exploited by the greedy;
And of you, they are afraid,
Because you won’t say, I have paid,
Enough dues; and they refuse,
Treatment because of the ruse,
Of your sanctimonious cant,
About risk, with an orthodox slant,
In ignorance of facts and the way,
You minimise danger here today:
That illness itself is so ugly.
Your tenets don’t fit in so snugly,
With the reality of illness:
Of malady and mental sickness.
Maybe, if you sought to hear,
The darkness would disappear,
And the public would be safer,
If you focussed upon the wider,
Diaspora of the masses:
Not examples of your classes,
Of symptoms all read from a book.
I was mad: now take a look;
But I’m not now, and I can’t go,
Anywhere that you don’t know.
You have made an illness bad.
Get the message? I’m not mad.
You have not looked at extent,
Your diagnosis is quite bent.
When faced with impulsivity,
You failed to notice, “That’s not me.”.
The madness justified it all.
You, can’t cope, and are appalled,
Outside the nature of the truth.
You have no pathos, and no ruth.
You called a spade a bloody fork.
You are no action, and all talk.
Although I am not justified,
Your mind is hardly open wide,
To the nature of the facts,
From your books, and your pacts,
Of special knowledge: qualified,
To be so special at my side.
Our ensigned medicine man,
Has a look, and yes he can,
See what any fool could see,
And not even care for me.
Let’s wait until punitive measurement,
Could mete out justice with some merriment,
And deny the possibility that people irresponsibility,
Don’t communicate facts,
To relevant authorities: who don’t exist,
Except in meagre token form,
Because of the past, all forlorn.
But the present is hardly grateful:
Take a look, and don’t be spiteful.
I repeat. They are terrified. Who?
The psychotic. Why? Please read this again.
You make much progress, in your expense,
To bankrupt the nation without exception,
Without a view of extent:
Your purblind tenets can be rent,
By proper science analogy -–
Not your science, and its glee,
About how you make the public safer.
No; you don’t really because the wider,
Risk of madness is actually there,
In the public, of which you do despair,
By focussing on your “risky” niche,
And your belief that you can teach,
All the things which can’t be taught.
I was a looney, and I’ve been caught:
Justified by wider harm;
Not what was perceived or even intended;
But it not the case mentally, nor internally now,
Or likely to be in the future.
So continue. Don’t stop.
I’m sure you’ve fended
Off malevolent spirits, by wider gargoyles.