Doctors every week, nurses every hour
day and night and night and day, locked up in this tower.
White jackets and blankets that smell of bleach,
Counseling sessions and appointment deadlines to be reached.
Odd roommates that come and go,
Telling you all their symptoms and lows.
Oh, the tears that splash in salty oceans,
And liars with heart-filled devotion.
Feelings and quiet time,
No jewelry, no string, no q-tip, nor dime.
On the street to happiness but going in laps,
MHT my crossing guard, my therapist--my map
Doctors every week, nurses every hour.
Day and night and night and day locked up in this tower.