As I stood in the mental asylum,I realized that one thing was certain
I oddly understood why they were the way they were,
de-touched from reality
Because of late I have been hearing the whispers in the walls,
seeing the non-existing,
shrieking my lungs out at invisible crawlers.
No, I know not of the golden brew,
not cannabis so intoxicating,
neither sniffed the white dust...
yet I present just like them.
Do I then deserve to be called mad?
No!
I am not depersonalized nor de-realized
and my behavior is not ticking off the last nerve of others.
So, it's fit to say that I am just unwell.
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