Room 140

Room 140 Is The Room I Stayed In A Crises Care Facility. While I Stayed I Told Myself Something Will Come Out Of This. Then Again Not. This Was Such An Experience It Was Part Of Dismal Expectation. I Watched The Other Patients Other Side Of The Window. They Were Miles Away. They Had A Particular Music To Them. And I Am Gasping For Air. People Are Walking Around The Building. No Reason. Then I Will Be Glued To The Tv. I Do Not Understand The Plot. Some Are Old Movies Some Are Sitcoms. Some Are Crime Show. Then My Mind Tells Me Orders. I Must Move On To The Next Hall. The Staff Moves Around Too. And I Realize I Have No Notion Of The Time. In Fact I Have No Idea Where The Building Is Located. I Tell Myself I Should Not Drink Lemonade. No Lemonade No Lemonade No Lemonade...And I Get A Cup And Drink Some Lemonade. While English Writers (Include Poets) Strive To Write More. Philosophers Like To Strive To End Writings. Both Are Continually Incomplete. In A Sense Wabisabi (The Art Of Imperfection) Applies. A Person Living Is Complete As Where He Stands. American Travelers Are Taking Strives. So Is The Mentally Ill.