The inmates

Anonymity does not limit me in the corridors of insanity
where conformity is not a word used.

True to their words the guards of the wards
ward off the devil that tries to bring me down
to his level, but
I can rise above it on a carpet from Baghdad
sold to me by Sinbad who is in the next bed.

Then Queen of Hearts said,
‘off with his head’
but she holds no jurisdiction
in the halls of this great asylum.

Some like me haunt the troughs of society
wide eyed with mad hair,
shuffling like old men,
some sit and stare at the pictures not there
and
some talk in ciphers, but only the lifers and
they’re all quite mad dontya know.

you might know me by name
and if so
you’ll know what the game is,
keep them guessing
keep them gassing like old
lasses on a Lancashire lawn
when we get older we might even
be born
until then we’re just biding our time.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.