Patrick Henry Williams

One that is always pacing
Thick beard, thicker glasses still
Said in a hushed voice
“The staff are Nazi energy vampires.”
He read her aura and continued pacing.
They were both locked here,
Despicable yellow walls contained.
They were the shaman and the believer.
At this low point, anything seemed real
Grip after furious grip for something more.

More than 5-minute checks and
15-minute smoke breaks in the courtyard.
More than killing time in the solarium,
Or being on med-ops.
Connected, it seemed
A slight of circumstance.

His goal each morning community meeting
Was to uphold the Bill of Rights.
Hers was to make it through the day.
Despite talk of demonic possession,
Time warps, the mechanics of God,
Spirits and shadows…
She just wanted to go home.
 
But alien black eyes stared at her
Watching her pass the unlocked bathrooms
He plucked the guitar in the music room.
It was a kind of Basquiet-esque beauty
Insanity and color. Metrical chaos.
He played her Spanish love songs
And experimental acoustic.

She shuffled back to her room,
Contemplating God and more importantly,
Her next dose. Sitting on her white bed,
Barren yellow walls surrounding.
She left the door slightly open
Fluorescent light spilling in.
A nightlight for the monsters.