I signed away my right to go outside,
seeking asylum from my thoughts.
My roommate slept all day and woke at night
speaking gibberish– her name was either ‘Marnie’ or ‘Marry me.’
In the common room, I danced salsa with a boy who jumped off a bridge
because God told him to. A cop dragged him out of the river
and asked him what the hell he was doing.
“I was swimming.”
A musician played me his off-key compositions.
I didn’t tell him his songs hurt my head.
I didn’t want to drop him from mania to whatever I was in.
The young girl who refused dinner
came around begging for dessert.
She gobbled up all the pudding then called us names.
We watched as she wrestled the orderlies,
her face flushed, body surging, imperious.
Later, we passed by the quiet room
to see her dancing by herself.
I suppose it was a good sign
we were still singing and dancing.
Word Prompt: commit