To Be Sent To the Mental Hospital

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.