Asylum Flower

Come out to the garden,
Darling.
Come touch the flowers
that you love so much.
One summer,
you pricked your finger
on a thorn,
wiped it clean
on a stone.
I think the stain's
still there.
But you're gone.

Locked away in a tiny room
with one window,
you watch butterflies
and try to touch them
through the bars of your cage.
But they never stay..
Trapped inside that asylum,
you never speak
and you've forgotten how to sing.
But I remember
the pretty laugh you had
when we were seventeen.

There was a simpler time when
all I wanted was to make you smile,
when all you did was dance
in your pointed shoes and stockings.
We slid down the banister
and told ghost stories by the fire.
Do you remember when I accidentally
broke your music box?
But I fixed it later
and you liked that.

Oh don't give me
that cold shoulder,
Darling.
I'll take your hand
instead.
Your fingers laced through mine,
so fragile.
Yes, I like that!

My only Victorian Beauty,
Jane,
when you went insane,
they locked you up in
that place.

And even now I dream about
your milky white skin,
how I loved to kiss your throat,
hear you sigh and moan.
Jane, do you like that?

All those shattered dreams
of our childhood
and sweet, wet adolescence
got taken away,
shut up in the asylum of death.