She sits there staring at a blank cell wall.
Desperately hoping she would fall,
Into a never ending blackness known as death,
Where haunted spirits never rest.
She takes a deep breath willing it to be her last,
Thinking of haunting spirits of her past.
She sits and sits and never sleeps,
She never cries and never weeps.
She’s like the ghost from those cruel cars,
That locked her up behind the bars.
She had been called crazy and insane,
That was nothing new, just old and plain.
No one would listen to the thoughts in her head,
But that was before she was strapped to a bed.
Now she looks as pale as the ghost,
Who’s haunting spirit to which she is a host.