Asylum Life
I sit
in my chair,
staring at the world around me.
The other carry on
their Lives.
Chatting;
Eating;
Plotting.
I am not like them.
I am Silent.
The woman with the auburn hair;
She sits by the wall.
I think they call her
Ivy.
Green eyes;
The emeralds scan the room.
They rest on me.
I turn my gaze.
It comes to rest on another.
He has red hair too.
The man laughs;
Words pour gracefully from him.
Brown eyes;
Liquid chocolate that swirls.
Another woman;
blond this time.
She giggles;
She laughs;
She makes the room lighter
Blue eyes;
Azure crystals twinkle like stars.
This one is vulnerable.
It makes me sad.
A rough voice;
It growls with authority.
I turn.
Another man.
He is scarred,
just like me.
Half of his face is handsome,
chiseled and moulded to perfection.
The other half is deformed,
Blackened with a large orange eye.
His eyes;
One is soft,
gentle like a doe's.
The other is sharp and cold
like a razor.
Bowing my head,
I stand.
The rough cloth of a couch
greets me.
I sit there Silently.
The blond;
she notices and approaches.
I keep my head low.
Black hair to hide my scar.
She speaks.
Her name is Harley.
I reply nothing.
Disappointment;
It radiates from Harley.
I feel Bad.
A whisper answers her.
"My name is Lucy."
She smiles;
A warm grin that shines.
Harley leaves and I am
alone once more.
A cackle;
The embodiment of insanity.
A shiver runs up my spine.
I'd know that laugh
Anywhere.
I turn;
He is there.
White skin;
Green hair;
Blood-red lips in a smile;
Forming an insane face that
haunted me.
Most terrifying of all is his
Eyes.
They were empty.
Empty;
Dark;
Desolate;
His eyes were a void,
nothing but blankness.
There was only a spark to
show he was alive.
Harley clung to his arm.
She loved him.
That was plain for sure.
Poor Harley;
so naïve.
Silently,
I stand.
"Walk away," says my mind,
"Walk away."
A rare moment of sanity;
inspiration that fuels my mind.
Sitting at the table,
I begin to draw.
The lines flow together,
Smooth;
Stream-line;
Flawless to my eyes.
I shade in the hair,
capture the texture.
It is Perfect.
There is Ivy.
Long hair cascades downwards;
Full lips smirk;
Delicate hands play with a flower.
Next to her is the man
with the scars.
He is smiling, hands around
Ivy.
His normal half is smiling;
His scarred half is softer somehow;
It's all from Ivy in his lap.
Harley sits close by,
grinning cheekily.
Her Blond pigtails stick out;
Her head is cocked to the side;
Sitting cross-legged with her dimples.
Next to her sits the other man.
His red hair is now gray,
but it looks like cotton candy.
His eyes sparkle,
intelligent with mischief.
I do not draw the clown man.
He is frightening.
Another voice;
Lighter and more feminine.
Ivy;
She is behind me.
I bow my head,
saying nothing.
Delicate green fingers;
they touch my drawing with
utmost care.
She tilts her head;
Curiosity.
I murmur,
"It's not very good."
She smile,
says it's excellent.
Ivy asks something;
Curiosity etches her face.
"Why am I with Harvey?"
That was the scarred man's name.
Harvey.
I keep my face hidden.
My scars;
They scare people.
I answer her quietly.
"Because he loves you."
She tilts my head up.
My hair screen;
it falls away,
revealing my scars.
They start at my eye,
Extending;
Blossoming;
Burning out to my hairline.
The skin there is an angry red,
bunching and knotting;
tearing and twisting;
contrasting greatly with my pale skin.
I close my eyes.
I don't want to look at the disgust.
Tears run down my face.
Sadness;
Shame;
Humiliation;
They all flow through the
salty drops.
Ivy doesn't gasp.
She doesn't groan with disgust.
She accepts it.
She asks why Harvey loves her.
I laugh through the tears.
"Because you aren't afraid of scars."
We talk.
Soon a guard comes.
I must go back to my cell.
Rough hands;
Biting cuffs;
Harsh words meet me.
All just another day in
Asylum Life.