FicWad

I just sit here in this darkened room. I look straight ahead. On the floor infront of me, there's a pad of paper. Just laying there. I've gotten bored with just staring at it. Slowly, I attemtp to get up, and fail miserably falling straight back to the floor. But it's okay. The walls and floor in here is soft and it doesn't hurt when I fall. That's good. Easpecially when I'm banging my head.

I roll over to the door and balance myself against it. Finally being able to stand, I look out of the small bars at the top of the door. The only thing bringing some light into the room. If it weren't for them, It'd be completely dark in here. Hm, just like me.

"Hey!" I call, hoping maybe somebody will care enough to respond.

Nothing.

"Hey!" I scream again. Finally a man in a white coat comes to the door and asks what I want. "Can I get a pen in here? Please?" I asked. The man just scoffed at me. "What?" I ask. "No Frank, I can't give you a pen. If I do, all the progress you've made so far would be for nothing."

Progress? What progress.

"Please!" I beg again. "I promise I won't write anything. I just want to draw is all!" My voice sounds like it's about to crack. I hear him sigh on the other side of the thick metallc door though. I win yet again. I always do.

A blue plasitic pen comes through the metal bars and I smile. Instantly, I hit the floor and pick up the pen with my mouth. I roll back to the paper and lean over my crossed legs to reach it.

Fuck those people. I'm way behind! If I don't get some shit written down, the others will be mad at me. Vince will yell at me. Tommy will be so upset. Mick will hit me. He always hits me. And the fans. The whole world needs me. I can't stop. I can't sleep. I can't do anything until I get this done. But what to write about? I think of my experience in here so far.

First, they raided my home. Fragged me in here, stripped me down and put me in these horrible clothes so I couldn't fight back. I was in surgery for something they say. It must be true. I've got these real itchy stiches in my forehead. What's that about? Oh well. It's just like the first time they shoved me in here.

I press the pen down to the page and start writing. I skill I learned many a year ago when I was shooting up so much that I just couldn't move my arms at all.

The words flooded from my brain. I just hope they make it outside. Whenever I write down lyrics, they come in here and give me this needle. Then I sleep for along time. When I wake up, the paper is gone. Maybe if I get out of here...

Who am I kidding? I'll never get out alive.
--

"They opened up the door to my insanity,
They should've slammed it shut right then, and thrown away the key.
They stiched up my head from my lobotomy,
They never should've let me out, I'm public enemy.

I'm not okay, (I'm not okay)
The voices in my head always say,
(voices in my head)

I should be commited for being so twisted,
Because everyone knows, I'm just another psycho.
I went to the doctor It wasn't a shocker,
When he said I should know, I'm just another psycho.

Shoved into a hole and covered up with dirt,
That's no way to treat someone, who's feelings don't get hurt.
I don't need a reason to hurt you just for fun,
I terrorize your perfect life, yeah you better run."

It didn't take me long to look at the words before me and realise what I was reading. I was talking about myself the whole time. Who would've guessed. I close my eyes and lay back against the cushioned wall. I guess I should get comfy. I'm not going anywhere for a long time.

I guess I was wrong. Life's not always beautiful.