A walk through the ward

A walk through the ward

Is always akin to a promenade

Without a parasol

Or the eye of an artist

Deadman walking

Privates on parade

The new boy

Barely out of short trousers

Wearing a white coat

Too long in the arms

Heavy eyed patients

Fighting with themselves

To remember who they were

Before the brain freeze

Takes their memories away

Those on long stay

The returnees

Those who knew how to play the system

Hid their secrets

Underneath a tongue

Slipped a tablet into a cache

They had stashed

Under the sink in their room

It was contraband

To be used in an emergency

Ending life was an occurrence

Not deemed unlikely

Therapy groups were a place

Of safety

For the time they took to begin

Psychologists were never

There long enough

To know what to make of the truth

When it threatened to break out

Of the cognitive circle

An angel of death

Flapping its wings

Jumping in and out of bodies

At will

A game of cards was more healing

Belly laughs took off the ceiling

It was better when the coats came off

Sleeves rolled up

Everybody looked the same

With a smile on their faces

If you ignored the slight twitches

And drooling

Not from the patients

But the burned-out nurses

Hollowed out on the job

Barely holding on to a belief

They were allowed to go home

At the end of the day

It was the only card left to play

In what was fast becoming

A very bad hand

Nobody ever had

A real chance of winning