Schizophrenic Walls

Part 1 - misery

I tremble, stalking my way towards my isolated cell.
Tiles cool on my porcelain feet. Shadows twisting and bending through the cement arches.
In every step I manage to lift my fragile frame.
The sunset lit hall swallows up what light it allows to shower through.
Wind gushes in and out through these cold walls.
Walls with a memory of blood, tears and agony.
Scarred from the sound of nights where patents have wailed in pain in their own demise.
Everyone here is scared of their own imagination, and for good reason. But my mind, a wonderland of apprehension and confusion.
High on antipsychotics for the purpose of my own safety and "well-being".
I feel trapped and held against my will most of the time.
Not being gifted with a life that I can grasp.
Sleep is an uncommon occurrence that I have yet to master.
Insomnia from being insane restrains me from seeing what's real and what's not there.
In some instances, I have believed that my own parents were creatures with deformed eye sockets and bloody smiles.