‘So, this is what it feels like
the other side of the locked door.’
he thought to himself
as he scraped the words
‘BITCH-WANK-FUCK-TIT’
into the thick paint of the walls.
Right above the Gang Graffiti
and philosophical statements, like
‘Silence Is Golden’
and ‘Say Porthcawl (Fuck-All) Is Best’
“I’m finally getting away from her,
she cannot touch me in here.
No more tears and bullying,
I’ll be free from her now,
the W-W-W-hore!” he stuttered
cowardly whilst looking slyly
over his left shoulder,
still afraid that somehow
she might actually overhear him?
He laughed, involuntarily,
then shit himself uncontrollably,
it was mostly solid & he smiled with glee.
He had not felt so liberated
since safely back in childhood.
“Mother Washes!” he chuckled
and scooping a handful of stinking muck
which was sliding out of his trouser cuff,
he smeared war paint all over his face.
“They’re Coming To Take Me Away!”
he sang in a voice almost not his own
“Ding, Dong The Wicked Witch Is Dead!”
As the Psychiatrist listening at the door
evaluated and made his decision
“He should be reprimanded not sectioned,
forced to face this and not run away from it.
It’s not a breakdown but an escape attempt
away from adult and professional responsibility.
Get his wife here and emotionally shame
and embarrass him until he snaps out of it!”
In Between Hangovers 