Briarcliff Manor

We’re defective, we’re elective, we are the good boys and girls gone bad

So restrain me and cure me now with *buzz* *buzz* electroshocks

Cane me and lock me up within the corners of grimy limestone walls

Torture me to your own whims Sister; why not? It’s a madhouse after all

.

Boiling baths to condense your soul of all its black smoking madness

Solitary confinement to expel the numerous demons you possess

Colourful characters to see, like greedy priests and a Santa Claus defaced

Mexicans and devilish nuns, and here comes ‘ol infamous Bloody Face
.

Scarlet Rorschach tests that the psychiatrist provides are spattering

Patterned rusty blood and brown faeces on the floor are freely dripping

What do you see? A knife? A heart? A person? Or a shiny gun?

Worry not, my dearest patient, you and I are going to have so much fun

.

Screams and chants and yells and thudding heads in a morbid symphony

A terrible storm is brewing, so let’s just go and watch a old Christian movie

Demons, monsters, angel of death, Nazis, aliens, all this sheer nonsense

So go ahead and take a pick from this varied roster of utter madness

.

Now it’s time to take a side; are you a victim? Or the victor?

Do you want bitter pills to cure your ails, or retribute with a glinting razor?

Decide your fate, come what may, but in the end, surely you’ll still fall

Oh what the hell everyone, shut up and deal, it’s a madhouse after all.

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Filed under Fandom Poetry, Poetry

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