You are wrong. You are corrupt. You are insane. You are a freak. You are different.
You are wrong. You are corrupt. You are insane. You are a freak. You are different.
I am not wrong. I am not corrupt. I am not insane. I am not a freak. I am just different.
I am not wrong. I am not corrupt. I am not insane. I am not a freak. I am just different.
I am different.
So I am thrown into a white prison. White walls. White clothes. White ceiling. White floors. White beds. White carpets. White doors. Blinding. Beautiful. Horrific. A constant reminder. I am different.
No one sees me. I see everything. Some doors have windows. Most doors don’t. Some rooms are silent. Most rooms aren’t. The doors are numbered. My number is 216. Polished silver on a slab of ebony. Blinding. Beautiful. Horrific.
I only have the words I have never spoken. I love you. I hate you. Go away. Don’t leave me. I only have the emotions I have never shown. I am not scared. I am not scared. I am not scared. I am terrified. I only have the clothes given to me. White. Binding. Chocking.
Flickers of movement. Faces. Voices. No one sees me. I am nothing. Expendable. Useless.
Punch the wall. And again. And again. And again. Pain. I am human. I still feel pain. White Coats. Movement. Faces. Voices. More pills. White rooms. More roommates. Cellmates. Prisoners. They are different.
I am different.
