Times like this I shouldn’t be here
Its not stopping my stress it’s stemming it
I’ve been helped
alongside the girls who eat tape measures
and the boys who breathe fire.
But I’m angry that as I lie in bed
I’m whispering to my pillow
“The door’s locked.
The door’s locked.
The door’s locked.”
And for once it’s not the OCD talking.
I’m scared because they’ve been kicking the doors in for hours
and we are three members of staff down
and as they storm the siren screaming doors
the agency blokes don’t know their names
to phone for the police.
But what are parents supposed to do?
When Seb is sixteen and suicidal so sent to be safe.
The psychiatrist is supposedly stalling their son’s surge for suicide.
But in a moment Finn throws a fist and Seb’s got stitches.
Seb’s mind must be bad for six stitches to be the safest.
How scary is that?
The ceiling screams when we do,
And sewn on the skin of my teeth
Are slideshows of scenarios
Seen in children’s psychiatric settings.
But we’re safe. Right?