Screams fill the room
The fighting that is all one sided
The shocks from electricity
they knew I would find it
Voices chanting in my head
'The murder of one is all but said
The murder of one will end up at the bottom of the river dead'
The voices put in my head by the treatment
they became my friends by sole agreement
that I'm not crazy.
They called me hysterical
Bringing my words of truth to their burial
Sobering up from a medicational high
The memories of hands on my thigh
The color of a white coat
It's straps and cool metal chains
The arms make my shoulders bruise with pain
Man-handled by the angels of dark wings and gloved hands
Smart men of the needle brand
and uterus thread
The ones taking away the voice of victims
When they speak out against the ones who hurt them in bed
If only they knew the cool of the river
The feeling of the water in lungs
The blurry visions of the 20s
It's a long way down the bottom of the river
It's even longer when I greet them at the burning gates of hell
The murder of one is the murder of many
When so many live in one prison of the well.
