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Hot Tent,
I almost purposely lost my mind,
to be confined to four walls
of intesifying white,
but if the pen was a threat
I'd hospitalize my life
by falling ill to death,
a little more 
and I'd sink into
my hands in one sweet sobbing drone
to drown in fumes-
so take me to the tent, because
I proper express my emotions in vent,
doctors purely expressing obligations of
higher in command, and that because
of handbooks handed down from legal hands...
first the fist,
then sweet logic missed,
and the product of beaurocracy- shaking
obligatory hands in exchange for coins
later laid to rest on Ophelia's blessed
eyes, floating down the river
dead of liver failure and hands stained with
blood and vomit, 
waited too long for the happiness
to set in, until organs bled in, unable to contain
the love, Oh Joy! If I could recompense
my friends and family who suffered at my expense-
I cry, I have my own cell and I stick my hands
out of steel bars, to be washed
of ultimate sin, the inability to let God in,
I killed his son today, the easy way, letting Lucifer
sit in the brain, and breed cruel thoughts now laid,
Hell No... all heaven sent, each thought is a plot,
but each thought is an idea I misrepresent,
I won't repent, I won't repent, I won't repent,
burning hot in the Hot Tent.

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