The Asylum

The Asylum

The gates did not open, they swallowed me whole,

Iron teeth closed softly, as if kindness could be forged in rust,

A silence waited inside, thick as old dust on forgotten bones,

And every footstep I took echoed like a question with no answer.

They said rest, they said peace, they said you are safe here now,

But the walls leaned closer each night, listening to my pulse,

The ceiling watched me with a pale and sleepless stare,

And the bed held me down like a quiet, patient grave.

Voices moved through corridors that never showed their end,

Soft shoes, softer lies, hands that measured and marked,

Every whisper carried a piece of someone left behind,

Every door held a name that had already faded.

I tried to remember the sky, but it slipped through my mind,

Like water through broken fingers, like light through shut eyes,

They told me time was healing, but time had no face here,

Only ticking shadows that grew longer and colder.

I spoke once, loud enough to shake my own bones,

But the sound folded back into me, unheard, undone,

And I learned the language of quiet, of breathing without being,

Of existing just enough not to disappear.

When they finally opened the gates, I did not move,

Because something had stayed behind inside my chest,

A room with no windows, no doors, no name,

And I knew I would walk out, but never leave.

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