Cursing while I'm going downhill,
Malfunctioning with being very ill,
What is under scrupulous attention
Is the inevitability of some detention.
Locked away in a state of extreme worry,
Cursing - but not being a cowardly bully,
As staff have control of all of the ward -
I fight with my mouth, and not the sword.
I sometimes get restrained for my ill-gain,
But I wont refrain from honour in I name
As I am gentlemanly to both she and he
Who go about their business respectfully.
A needle with poison in for my arm
While I am trying to keep sanely calm,
I wobble slowly away to face my day -
Staff now not distinguishing what I say.
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