(Hope stings eternal)
There is a place where groping things go about their programmed lust for survival. I once saw a dark corner where I, doped with fear, tried not to look but, compulsions angels forced me. There is a place where even shadows hide their shame, and they out-live everything!
The prisoners of Priory ward, Severalls hospital Colchester, constantly move in me, staring with ghost hollow eyes at the exhausted ego of so – called nurses, but in fact prison guards, sold out to the market place, ‘just carrying out orders’ And now a vast camouflage of time floods over the last protesting voice, where the screaming silence of the condemned cell, traces a breathing human being. ……. the struggling crawling thing I have become, points a finger back at me, and looks on men with pointed heads, men who can’t see the point, unless they are looking in a mirror. Some will never see the point in these struggling words, not even, if it was needle sharp and they were sitting on it.