These Four Walls

Is this brain insane? Is it in pain? Chained to the radiator, physically and metaphorically. In Spain? Perhaps. The language I hear sometimes (if I strain my ears) in the corridors beyond this place, is foreign to me. It always was. All the languages I ever heard, if indeed that number is more than one, were always foreign to me.

Was I ever part of what goes on outside these four walls? These four blank walls, covered only in mildew and condensation, onto which this wild mind has projected images, colours, stars, landscapes, abstract shapes, ghosts, fires, visions of everything and anything, first exploding across the blank space, pulsing, morphing for seconds or minutes or hours before the chemical attacks subside and they return to their blank, featureless selves.

Did I really do that? Was it really there, or some product of my imagination? If someone else was here, would the tree falling in the forest make a sound oh no here we go again swirling and changing and moving and shifting and HERE COMES THE SUPERNOVA ELECTRONIC OVERDOSE PASSIONS FERVOURS FEVERS LOVE HATE RAINBOWS MONSTERS FIRE FEAR PAIN ART GET ME OUT OF HERE DON'T GET ME OUT OF HERE HELP PLEASE MAKE IT STOP DON'T LET IT STOP IN OUT UP DOWN EAST WEST EXPLOSION TOTALITY FINALITY oblivion again.

<much later>

If I were in a better frame of mind, would they let me go? What is a better frame, who has the definition, who decides? Who are They? Do They exist? I know someone is there because the plate arrives once in a while, always the same grey porridge, sometimes a strange aftertaste. Someone must be doing that, right? But I never see them. I never see anyone, just the visions.

Why am I here then? Did I do wrong? Did I sin against someone? Was there an incident, a specific thing someone can point to? Can I have an explanation please? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? Can someone tell me what's going on? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT IS GOING ON???

Of course, no-one answers. Just the blank stare of the same four walls, and the drip-drip of the water and slime and shit running down them. Those walls. I know them in a way humans shouldn't come to know walls. I know every crack, every stain, every bump, every streak. Just the four walls , the hole in the floor, the empty plate and me.

Don't leave me here forever. Will I be here forever? Or for the rest of my life? And what's the difference, exactly?

Will the walls outlive me, or will I move outside them once again?