Vol. 6, No. 1 - Psychiatric Survivor Archives of Toronto

FOR ALL THE FLAILING BROKEN ONESI have walked your intricate halls:I know how you despise those tiny pills"rape your mother, awake feeling fine."You hate the fact that it's happened againthe mornings that come with old shiverings;the way fast friends only stop to stareand sad melodies are playing your thoughts.The evening and the last pale light:Be done with it now?for the rug has been burned from underneathand you lie for weeks, all splintered bones.Favourite poems can only be wordsa painting, an indulgence of colour;the only things that can infiltrate:sharp awareness of past imperfections.But the corridor ends in intensity:hurl your senses to the winds andrejoice, new anger seeping in;fight again each day like a wounded titanlet your tears mount up like vesuviusAnd explode them into spiralling poems:so alarming to the layman.- Megan Stuart MillsPhoenix Rising 17