Poetry archive from the mental hospital

The bad poem

I will, with all my tarnishing control, try to keep my conflicts where no one can see them:
Behind my eyes and between my ears
Shadowed by locked doors
Resting in neglected folds this broken journal

I will, with all my revenging prayers, seek to locate our boundaries where my thoughts are not agonized by them:
In front of us together
Behind our backs and out of mind
Anywhere but between your hand and mine