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Description
Please ignore the total crap that you see above. I just wrote this somewhat creepy poem because I was discussing the sexiness straitjackets with someone (don't even ask), and I was desperate for a sketch to go along with it.

That sketch is not, by any means, supposed to represent my skills in sketching. It's basically half-drawn. I draw much, MUCH better than that. I just whipped that up in five minutes.

Here's the poem:

The Straitjacket

I'm up against the wall
in my little padded cell.
My straitjacket is tight.
I know now, this is Hell.

The window on the door
lets in little to no light.
They never check on me,
though I did put up a fight.

I'm weary and exhausted,
but sick of sitting here,
so I think I'll start a riot.
I have nothing left to fear.

I throw my body hard
against the cushioned wall.
The buckles on my jacket
don't loosen; not at all.

I strain my neck and gnaw
the dirty leather strap.
It's old and worn from usage,
in minutes, it will snap.

I work the jacket quickly,
and finally, I'm free!
Convenient, they've forgotten
to lock the door, I see.

I creep along the hall
and see that goddamn nurse.
Too bad, no time for torture,
I make his murder terse.

The nurse's keys unlock
the doors for all my friends.
Some run to seek revenge,
some run to make amends.

Our bodies bring down those
who dare stand in our way.
All heard is savage cries,
there's nothing else to say.

We burst through the front doors,
we're finally, finally free.
This is a night of triumph,
for all of them and me.
And then my head lifts up,
I'm sitting in my cell.
I curse my silly mind
for dreaming it so well.

You wonder what put me
against this padded wall?
The story is too long, dear,
my straitjacket says it all.

**

Hope you like it!

Please don't steal any of this...I copyrighted it already.

Description
Please ignore the total crap that you see above. I just wrote this somewhat creepy poem because I was discussing the sexiness straitjackets with someone (don't even ask), and I was desperate for a sketch to go along with it.

That sketch is not, by any means, supposed to represent my skills in sketching. It's basically half-drawn. I draw much, MUCH better than that. I just whipped that up in five minutes.

Here's the poem:

The Straitjacket

I'm up against the wall
in my little padded cell.
My straitjacket is tight.
I know now, this is Hell.

The window on the door
lets in little to no light.
They never check on me,
though I did put up a fight.

I'm weary and exhausted,
but sick of sitting here,
so I think I'll start a riot.
I have nothing left to fear.

I throw my body hard
against the cushioned wall.
The buckles on my jacket
don't loosen; not at all.

I strain my neck and gnaw
the dirty leather strap.
It's old and worn from usage,
in minutes, it will snap.

I work the jacket quickly,
and finally, I'm free!
Convenient, they've forgotten
to lock the door, I see.

I creep along the hall
and see that goddamn nurse.
Too bad, no time for torture,
I make his murder terse.

The nurse's keys unlock
the doors for all my friends.
Some run to seek revenge,
some run to make amends.

Our bodies bring down those
who dare stand in our way.
All heard is savage cries,
there's nothing else to say.

We burst through the front doors,
we're finally, finally free.
This is a night of triumph,
for all of them and me.
And then my head lifts up,
I'm sitting in my cell.
I curse my silly mind
for dreaming it so well.

You wonder what put me
against this padded wall?
The story is too long, dear,
my straitjacket says it all.

**

Hope you like it!

Please don't steal any of this...I copyrighted it already.