Tales From The Asylum

- Dark Poetry

High Expectations

 Blade rests in the hand

A pool of blood oozes from the wrist

He lies helpless on the floor of the asylum

How could things come to this?

No physical or mental abuse

Just the occasional sense of neglect

Not number one priority in the race to progress

Things to do and ladders to climb

No moments for precious time

The sharing of intimate thoughts

Worked hard at school

Always achieved high grades

University on the horizon

His parents started to grow apart

Different objectives and ambitions

Just the normal kind of thing

But the pain digs deep

A lack of physical and emotional love

A middle class casualty on the road to affluence

Too many things to cope with

So self-aware, trying to fit in,

Trying to impress the lads

Trying not to come across as too clever

Failing to impress

A period of introspection follows

More and more distant

Locked up in his own world

Things start to spiral out of control

His diary a record of his thoughts

A slow deterioration in self-worth

We all need to be loved

No point in flying high

If you have nobody to share the success with

Nobody paid attention to the quiet lonely boy

Never the centre of attention

Always well behaved

And now his life is near to the end

A final cry for help

What could have led to such a tragedy?

Another victim of high expectations


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