(This is in answer to a question asked by another blogger. – Owen)

I woke one night and thought I was at home.
The crack beneath the door let through the light –
A shadow then: my dad, perhaps my mom –
I lay there puzzled; something wasn’t right —

My eyes adjusted to the dim-lit gray,
I saw the other bed, the sleeping form;
I knew this wasn’t any home I’d known,
Nor was it college – this was not a dorm –

And in the dark, I realized that I
Had tried kill myself, and so was here;
The rooms weren’t padded, like they were at first,
This was the mental ward, first floor, third tier —

But through my drug-filled haze, I had a thought:
I ought to leave this place
I really ought