#poem Of A Fractured Mind Doctors and nurses digging through my head Stitching through psyche like needle through thread Picking through all of the places in mind Searching for something that they’ll never find Looking for feelings and workings and cures They think they can help me… But they can’t, I am sure. They think ink blots and head shocks will break down my chains But these only bring physical, additional pain I can’t understand what they hope to achieve My confessions and stories that they won’t believe And if they won’t listen then what shall I do? The voices in my head provide no help to. And most of the time, they place me in my cell My own personal, padded and very small hell Again, this is something they think will help me But I don’t want to be here, I want to be free Surely they know this, surely they care? But it seems their concern vanished into thin air It seems that they want to wash their hands of me For what value to anyone is insanity?