The Asylum is Haunted

Prisoner
Lunatic Asylum Henry Clarke. Number 16

This is a fact:  My name is Eric Chance Killion golden.  This is where C.K. Golden comes from.

This is a fact:  I tried to kill myself for the first time when I was twelve.

This is a fact:  When I was 13, I developed my own theory of quantum gravity.  I called it the Theory of Triangular gravitation.

I threw it in the trash because a teacher named Dave Kavenaugh, now retired, at Loogootee High School told me it was “wrong.”

This is a fact:  I grew up in psychiatric hospitals from age 12 to 25-ish.  Last year, I stopped taking Neurontin, originally prescribed to me by a “volunteer doctor” at the Good Shepherd homeless shelter in Wilmington, North Carolina.  I stopped taking it because I discovered it destroys synapses and causes aggressive behavior.

This is a poem.  It’s called The Asylum is Haunted.  On Wednesday, June 8, I read it at Bella’s Bar Local in Wilmington, NC.

 

Two windows between us.

No bullets get through.

No sunshine.

No escape.

No one knows we’re here.

 

Take the pills, lights out.

No one sings a lullaby.

No music.

No empathy.

Dreaming is prohibited.

 

Wake up on fire, covered in lice.

Pace through the hallways.

Talk to the ghosts.

The Asylum is haunted.

Not by specters,

By missing children.

 

This one’s an orphan.

This one’s a farmer.

This one’s a poet.

This one’s a faggot.

That one hates him for it.

 

This one was raped by that one.

This one’s a fighter.

The ones who work here beat the shit out of him.

 

We’re all children.

Babies, can’t even vote yet.

No one wants us.

Especially the state.

 

We play with clay.

We draw pictures in class.

We sing songs in the shower.

10 minutes, kid, don’t waste water.

 

WE HAVE NO INCOME!

WE HAVE NO FREEDOM!

WE HAVE NO VALUE!

WE HAVE NO CHOICE!

 

Our parents love us,

Said the doctor that can’t remember our names.

 

You’re not an artist.

You’re a patient.

I am not the sick one.

Take your medicine.

Pay your bill at the door.

Good luck.

Get out.

Don’t kill yourself.

It’s bad for business.

 

C.K. Golden

C.K. Golden

I'm the worst person you've never met with the best intentions.I shouldn't be alive so I started to write.
C.K. Golden