Jane Doe

I hardly remember anything. I remember yelling, and feeling my heart pulse. The adrenaline pumping through my body. I miss the late nights in Florida though, it was always warm, and it was never to late for a ride with the convertible top down. I remember being 16 putting my arms up and screaming Keaton's name as we raced down 27 in his Mitsubishi and our friend's Porsche. However, those days are long gone from me . Now I'm locked in a mental institution in London, I only want out. They say I'm making progress but I'm not really. I was always a great liar. These dull grey walls and fake art pieces are slowly growing on me, but this, It'll never compare to home. If only the voices would tell me other wise.