The Crisis Unit:
Where Bibles are contraband,
mementos taken.
No more sentiments.
Fascist white coats grin widely
for law officers,
White coats drag me out,
lock me in concrete confines,
after law’s arms leave.
Abusive treatment,
hungry children forbidden
from having a snack.
They’re always watching,
locked down, yet I escape from
the gold God Helmet.
Become another,
broadcasts signals in my head,
my spirit rises.
I become lucid.
Yank off the gold God Helmet,
run back to my room.
-theothersid3
theothersid3 