Insurance
A Poem
Movement downstairs.
I seize on the floor, wrapped
in a blanket, naked underneath.
“I don’t want to be an object. Beatrice,
Beatrice, stop haunting me.”
Over and over and over, I
seize on the floor. Bright flash.
Their insurance: my disability.
This poem is from my self-published poetry Asylum Hysteria, and can be found in our shop and Apple Books.
