I was in an asylum
On the wrong side of the bed
I offered to shift sides
To lay where the demons dwell
Laid down my head
Laid down my pencil tins
Wrapped under covers still cold
A patient had scissors
Pointed to his own chest
The dog slipped off its lead
And I could not rest
Old friends haunted my space
Old faces I’d rather forget
Infest my dreams with memories
Crippled with guilt
I lay by the demons
Who breathe down my neck
I’m cold
I stroke the pencil tin
The metal soothing
My fractured soul
Anne Harrison 29.03.17
Tatterhood 