Sparkatale

In the background rocks a steady sound
Rhythmic heartrate of a hidden clock
Strums a melody on any ears around
With its endless song of tick and tock.

And laying down upon this cluttered bed
A girl with an imagination overly intact
Dare to invade her twisted little head
Observe how the lies slowly became fact.

On her face a pair of unblinking eyes
Open windows that suggest she is disturbed
Do you hear her lack of whines and cries?
With a mouth sewn shut, her voice is curbed.

For her protection, they've pinned her still
Her wrists and ankles bound in tight restraints
Under strict control, they've forced her to heel...
And no one else has offered any complaints.

It's been said her mind just died one day
Leaving her to go completely mad.
So they captured her and force her to stay
In the world where all inhabitants are bad.

There is nothing in her empty white cell
The windows all are sealed in and cemented.
Because no one thinks she'll again be well
And society is simply hides away the demented.

Every now and again, one lone soul will enter
And sneer down at this newest of rejections
Watching as her squirms begin to splinter
As she's forced to take her next injection.

Her diseased little head begins now to falter
And those green windows struggle not to close
She lays like a sacrifice upon this rusty altar
Where she, like her mind, will start to decompose.

The images play in the depths of her brain
Like morbid films that show her the depictions
Of how her sanity's strength began to drain
And forces her to hear her own tragic description:

Invisible forces all around circling ravenous
As if she were a corpse coveted by the vultures
Her insanity's results ultimately were disastrous
The bleeding limbs have become the sculptures

By which she shows her involuntary conviction
Of a captive breed of all those that are depraved...
Forever trapped by the confines of one prescription:
The entombment forever in living, sleeping graves.