Exit

It was an asylum
In a time when therapies
Were often abusive
Or tickets to oblivion

I wonder how many inmates
Especially the most sane
Took this sign as an invitation
To attempt the window

Or, as a metaphor
To ascend the stairway
Following the sign
Seen only by those
Already going up

Alas, the window
Impassable
For its iron mullions
Scantily clad prison bars

The stairway, then

Trading the pained oblivion
Of numbness
For the sweet oblivion
Of nothingness