It stares with no lids to obstruct its eye and listens with no reason to stop. It is mounted just above the door and no matter how many times I move, I can hear it’s little mechanical muscles whirring to keep me in view.

I am so sick it, of the man behind the electric leash.

There once was a time when I could move along these halls with out fear of someone seeing me who had questions about my actions or motives. I would hum a tune to go along with the clip-clop beat of my expensive shoes.

I look down now at my paper and cardboard slippers. What a FUCKING joke-

Ah, there it is, the rage again. I’ll never cease to amaze myself, the range of my psychosis. But wait…

Can I fully diagnose myself, knowing full well I’m not well?

Or am I well?

I stand and inwardly cringe at the whirring tracking sound as I shuffle to the handle-less door. I press my nose against the wire-inlaid glass and peer out at the white clad bouncer. I feel the tears start to form.

“Eddy. Eddy, am I sane yet?”