Madhouse

The pink clouds explode in a stained looking glass

overseeing the white skies across the barrier.

The white straight jacket holds together

the grandiloquent thoughts wanting to break free.

The bars that surround the white effigy

symbolize a concocted vision of gray.

Time sits still when one is dreaming.

The deep brown eyes look on as time drifts by

through a seamless milk of river.

No past silhouette emblazoned on the shadows.

The endless dance of light lingers

on the scent of an angel’s whisper.

The drizzling of the amorphous sunset

slips through the hazy hands.

Wanting, longing

to touch reality before

the dream siphons into the mist.

As free as a bird flying across

the endless blue of sky.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

What is there to love?

I was an alcoholic

a chain smoker

a womanizer.

She was never impressed with what I’ve done

or what I’ve accomplished.

She just looked at me with her brown eyes

and her ardent smile.

Piercing through the sentinels of shade.

I was exposed.

I was naked.

I stayed away from the gaze.

Running through the hazy halls

of meandering thoughts.

I tried to push her away

into the crevasse of my dreams.

But she was still there

she always was…

As I open my eyes to the light of day.

I indulged in nightly trips

from body to body, coming and going.

I return home to the same brown eyes

and whitewashed smile.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

She told me she believed in God.

I was always skeptical even though

my parents were staunch believers.

They thought they could save the world.

They dubbed themselves superman and wonder woman

to an imaginary world of light.

They always had to look good

didn’t want to get their hands dirty.

They kept on trying to change me

to suit their mold.

She was different.

She was very simple.

She took things as they were

the pink in the sun,

a cat’s whisper through a looking glass.

The death of memory etched on a gray moon.

She took me as I was.

From the strange way I tie my shoes

to the nights of endless folly.

“She told me she loved me”

I thought she was crazy.

A phone call from a friend

told me about her condition.

“It runs in the family ,” she says.

“She’s been that way since she was a child.”

The news of a death foretold

trickled down the night.

I told her about the news from a friend.

She held my hand and gave me a warm smile

with her brown eyes she told me everything.

We rode the car to the white house of thoughts

bringing our five year-old son.

The road is slowly eaten away

as the pale gates draw near.

“We’ve been expecting you,” said the doctor.

She walks through the door

her image sheathed in an amber of air.

I looked out the window and saw

the hues of the rainbow

dancing on the clear blue sky.

I walked out the door and into the car.

The clear brown eyes of the boy

reflected at me the way her mother does.

As we drove away in the black sedan

I looked out the window

the pale gates and the white

hospital building stared back

under a somber breath and dark eyes.

“I just might be the crazy one,” he whispered.