The apple tree
Take off their straightjackets and they'll start hitting the walls with their hands, arms, till they bleed out of bruises. They want out of their skin, release from the claws, drugs, needles, booze. No doctors, misfortune, bad relationships, anger. Somewhere, deep inside, between veins or where, there is something vibrating, screaming against being alone. They'll never bloom, bear fruit, like the apple tree just on the other side of the fence. |