• They beat me again,
    But I no longer feel the pain,
    The bruises heal quickly anyways,
    I squirm a little, and sit up without making a sound,
    I stay still leaning against the wall,
    My arms are restrained and are pressed to my body,
    Constricted by my straightjacket,
    At first I couldn't understand why I was hear,
    The doctors all told me the same thing,
    I am autistic,
    They only beat me for the fun of it,
    They want to see if they can force a sound out of me,
    My long damp moist black hair falls over my face,
    But I don't mind,
    I hear my celldoor open but refuse to see who it is,
    "Hello it's me Shiomi." It was chairman Cross again.
    He was a frequent visitor of mine at this asylum,
    I can hear him approaching me,
    "Shiomi.."
    He calls my name,
    And I don't see the point to it,
    If he knows that I won't respond then why does he continue to pursue a conversation with me?
    He crouches down, gently petting my hair,
    "I think you'll be happy to hear that you'll be released from here very soon."
    I lift my head, my eyes, however don't meet his,
    It was the same old empty promise every once a week,
    Cross would pay me a visit, making me an empty promise, and giving me false hope, finally he would leave me to drown myself in the depths of my own depression,
    I can feel my eyes blur, and sting,
    A wet drop rolls down my cheek
    A single wet tear, was my only answer,
    He wipes away the wetness whispering to me:
    "Please be patient, I'm really doing my best..."
    I watch him leave in silent contemplation,
    And while I do a little thought emerges in my head;
    "How long will this Nightingale have to wait....."