Poem: There's a rat on the psych ward

Supermodels Enter Rehab (Vogue Italia, July 2007) by Steven Meisel

There’s a rat on the psych ward

Between the lower dimension beings and the government

Under the beds among the voices wailing

Waahh oooo 

I heard a secret

Inside the veins of the insane

I don’t want to write about sadness anymore

what my pills do.

They keep me from going crazy

From sleeping too little

From drowning myself in the bathtub

From crying for my mother at night

I spit them on the ward floor

Tufff… I don’t need them.

When God asks what I did

Ill tell him:

“you made me think I had an unhappy life”

God will say

“it’s all in your head baby”

There is a rat on the psych ward

They keep the crazies clean on Sunday

Taking hell hot showers

Singing Jeff Buckley 

My mother brings me cream cake-

blueberries, the antioxidants does wonders

The fat girl has a Burberry scarf and smells expensive

She likes to kiss my Buddha figurine

“He looks like me” she would exclaim

And he did , round faces, dimpled cheeks

Radio too loud. Jehovah curses you.

Zonked out, not a moment too soon.

My dad cuts my witch fingernails.

I am dead through and through.