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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Dark · #2189046
Mental Health Care 100 years ago
I wake up a hundred years ago full of anxiety
My arms are belted down by brown leather straps
A white gown leaves me feeling cold and vulnerable
This is where they send me for help?

My hair is matted and dirty; my arm aches
I look down and see needle marks and bruises
I didn't put them there
Is this helping me?

My vision and memory are foggy and unclear
The taste in mouth is metallic and unfamiliar
I said I needed help
This is where they send me?

The bed beside me is empty but I hear noises
She is there hiding underneath crying and shaking in fear
She points to the door and SHOUTS obscenities
What have they done to her?

A lady in a white cap enters, face stern
Relieved I think she is here to save me
But out versions are not the same
She pricks me with a needle
And I drift off to sleep again
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2189046