Everybody owns one.
The type that hangs in the back of the closet
Like a forgotten skeleton.
Simple attire
That denotes no special occasion—
Far from it.
It’s strange comfort
Howls for your attention
And you listen
This time.
It’s for your own good,
Yet you muffled the screams longer
Than normal.
You shake off the dust,
Ignore the wrinkles,
And strap it on.
It’s like you remembered—
The long sleeves,
The tough material,
The snug fit
Of a straitjacket made well.
1 comments:
Interesting turn here. I started to get a bit depressed and then thought of the Seal song about how we're never going to survive unless we get a little crazy, that totally depressed me. What you hit on though is something interesting. Perhaps I am reading far too much into it, but sanity is a fragile notion at times (especially for someoe that was having trouble sleeping lately) and every now and again we pull a Seal.
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