The last thing I wrote as a free man

My vivid tales of horrid events always lead to a response

This infuriates me to my very essence

I’m amazed each time so my reply is similar in every occurrence

Why would you say such a thing is it insanity to create a world

 You view as the one you live, or would it please you if I were to

Let loose whispers of a happy end, in each of my poetic fantasies

If it weren’t torture, pain and screams

But flowers laughter and happiness

But let it be just these things which disgust me

Since life itself does not give it to anyone why should I

I’m am not crazy nor insane I just let my emotions which I keep locked

Free once I try to imagine my stories

Life has scarred me and so the picture I paint will display this

If there ever were a message within my pieces then it would be that

I hate you humans

Why it happened

My hands are shaking and my palms are moist

And as I sit I can feel my legs tapping without a rhythm nearby … I am nervous

I look around the square room filled with chairs and those filled with writers

Just as anxious as me to meet the one who holds their future in his palm

Well maybe not their future but their motivation and creativity at least

As the door to his office opens a broken man comes through it

His head down and a tear rolling down the lines of few that went before it

I follow his departure, mesmerized thinking that could be me

I’m quickly relieved from my trance as I hear my name called “Vino”

I look at the lady who asked for me to come in

A brunette with freckles and a million dollar smile

As I pass her by, her fragrance mellows the butterflies in my stomach

But they quickly return as she leaves the room and I’m alone with him

How it happened

The conversation was brief and one-sided

He was disgusted and didn’t understand all the rhyming

Told me to never come back but that I should seek help

Better yet he already did that for me because after several reviews it was clear

I was mentally disturbed

He thought it was his duty as a moral citizen to report this to the proper authorities

So I was forced to see a psychiatrist who would help me with a problem non-existent

But after several sessions, he too realized that I didn’t see the problem which they saw

Prescribed me pills to take, but that is something I didn’t do

Why repress what I love, why lock away a side which we all have

This I guess made him angry

Because after several months of ignoring his advice he locked me away

Placed in a place where dementia, insanity and all out incapability were the norms

The first thing I wrote as a locked man

Discarded by society into a realm where screams are daily and keep me up

Sleep is now a commodity which is seldom so I try to steal it during the day

  But after two weeks finally they gave me a pen and paper

So instead of my nap I will once again disappear into my own world

Where I can dream and tell my old self the one that lives in the past

To stop writing tales circling around death, maiming and sin

Because those around him do not see it as creative writing

But rather spews off a wicked mind a vile process which will lead to murder

Not once thinking this is his outlet for his fears, views, and pain

So Vino please stop before it’s too late

Because now that they have placed me here

the voices which help you to write your tales

Have been whispering other things and I’m inclined to listen

I was always obsessed with the bad things in life and how to hurt someone

That is what got me here and now there is no way out

And in 5 minutes I’m going to see the one who put me here

And since it’s already too late for me

And I’ve never really tasted the sweet things I write about Today I promise you I’m going to murder somebody

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