Here are some pills for your frown ache.

I don't have a frown ache.

If you don't take these pills,you are going to have a severe frown ache,and even worse,if you stop taking these pills,you will have a catastrophic locked jaw.

The Doctor snaps his finger.

Now repeat after me.You're the Doctor,I'm the patient.You're the healer,I'm the sufferer.

He snaps his fingers again.

Why should i take all these colorful pills?

Doesn't the rainbow come after the storm,not before the storm?

Yes,you do have a point.He snaps his finger.

She repeats

the mantra.

I'm trying to help you live a much fuller life.

No,What you're saying,if i take these pills it will be a filler for my life.

How are pills gonna make me happier?

Are they gonna be planted and grow arms that stretch the insides of my mouth into a smile?

And what if i decide not to take the pills?

I will have no choice but to give them to you in needle form.

You mean,Colours on a pointed palette shot into me?

I guess that wouldn't leave a bad taste on my colourless palate!

So i won't have no control if i want to eat the red one's last?!

He snaps his fingers.

Miss,You have to take this serious.

I'm right here,and i want to help you.

So,What you're saying Dr,Is that once i leave this office,I'm not here anymore and you can't help me?

Yes and No.

He snaps his fingers.

He replies,Why are you making this so difficult?

Difficult?!Do you know how hard it is to swallow your egotistical

self-coloured script?!

He snaps his fingers twice.

So i'll see you in three weeks?

Yes,Doctor.You're the Dr,I'm the patient.

I've been trapped in this place for what feels like an eternity. The walls are a dull gray, the floors are cold and unforgiving, and the air is thick with the scent of despair. I've lost count of the days, the weeks, the months. Time has no meaning here. The halls are lined with doors, each one leading to a different cell, a different prisoner. I've seen some of them, heard their whispers and their screams. We're all trapped here, together, yet alone.

The guards patrol the halls, their footsteps echoing off the walls. They're always watching, always waiting. I've tried to escape before, but they're too strong, too vigilant. They always catch me, always drag me back. But it's not just the guards that keep me trapped. It's the voices in my head, the constant chatter of self-doubt and fear. "You're not good enough," they whisper. "You'll never make it." The voices are relentless, echoing off the walls of my mind.

And then there are the visitors. My family comes to see me, bearing gifts and false smiles. "Be a good girl," they say. But their words are laced with poison, weighing me down with expectations and responsibilities.

And then, there's the thought of returning to a different prison after getting out of this one. "Learn this, memorize that," the teachers there drone. But their words are hollow, devoid of meaning or passion. They're just trying to mold me into something I won't be.

Adolescence is a cruel joke, a never-ending cycle of confusion and uncertainty. My body is changing, my emotions are raw, and my mind is a jumbled mess. I'm lost, alone, and adrift.

But I won't give up. I won't stop trying. I have to escape, no matter what it takes.

I've been watching the guards, studying their routines. I know when they change shifts, when they take their breaks. I know the layout of the asylum, every door, every hallway. I've been waiting for the perfect moment to make my move. It comes on a Friday, after lunchtime. The guards are distracted, busy with returning us to our cells. I see my chance and I take it.

As he turns, forgetting to lock, I slip out of my cell, into the hallway. I move quickly, quietly, trying not to draw attention to myself. I make my way to the stairs, my heart pounding in my chest. As I climb, I hear the guards shouting behind me. They're closing in, but I won't stop. I keep moving, my feet pounding the stairs. I reach the top floor, the administrative offices. I know there's a door here, a door that leads outside. I've seen the guards use it, but I've never been able to get close.

I burst through the door, into the bright sunlight. I feel a rush of freedom, of exhilaration. I've made it, I've escaped.

But as I look around, I realize something's off. The buildings, the streets, they're all familiar. And then it hits me - I'm standing in front of my own house.

The asylum, it wasn't a physical place. It was my own mind, my own thoughts. I've been trapped in my own head, and I just escaped. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of wonder, of awe. I'm free, and it's the weekend!

He left me in a puddle there-

he said, "This is the one safe place for you.

Come, you will not be forsaken."

But lies can live anywhere one plants them.

He planted many

and they flowered into beautiful promises

that will never be.

So that asylum he spoke of,

that safe place for me to land and live.

was a garden of gorgeous colors that wilt

under the slightest built of scrutiny.

I wish to go back to then.

Let me find asylum,

in something more than just empty eyes and hollow words.

Anyone, someone, please- take me home.