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The Madhouse One winter day I wandered through The countryside with naught to do, When in the distance I could see A place that seemed to beckon me. The twisted trees along the lane, Like tortured limbs in mortal pain, Appeared to not have ever been Adorned with leaves and verdant green. My footsteps in the frost turned black. I had some thoughts of turning back, But still I walked until I stood Outside a barracks made of wood. A cold light seemed to pulse and pour Through every gaping, empty door. I peered inside but didn't dare To venture in for deep despair Was emanating from inside And caused a sudden, surging tide Of fear that left me breathing hard And moving backwards through the yard. The panic in me sent me down The road back to the nearest town And when I stopped to have a drink Of bitter coffee and could think, I asked the waitress who had been Corraled within the place I'd seen. Her eyes just slid away from mine. One finger drew a shaky line Upon the counter and she tried To mumble something but she lied! Some awful secret festers there To send it's odor on the air And made me leave with anxious haste For I no longer had a taste To learn it's history, although, A part of me still wants to know. |
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