White walls. So sterile and brights

Rough canvas against my skin

Something about this isn't right

So why am I smiling a cheshires grin?

Cold metal clasps along my left arm

A thick leather strip between my lips

Their way of preventing self-harm

Its useless though, as I'm losing my grip

Am I crazy to feel at home here?

In a room with no windows nor doors

No friends or family, nothing I hold dear

Maybe its because I dont care anymore

About my happiness or theirs

About my sanity or despairs

I'm sore and sick, completely drained

Empty. Hollow. I'm also blood-stained

I've murdered my old self, the one they knew

Butchered her up, laughing all the while

Insanity is a disease, that much is true

But its one Im stuck with, and so I'll smile