My twenty first birthday was spent in an asylum, not as a patient, but as a guest of the ghosts

They watched us make our little movie

Maybe we helped them forget, even for a little while, what kept them there

Entertaining our spectre spectators

Their doors were still locked

Their files covered the floors of the hollow halls

Lead paint chips

Asbestos tiles

The beds looked uncomfortable

The windows to the courtyard were broken, and the outside was coming in

It will never be known if it was from the vines entering, or the victims trying to vacate

I hope they enjoyed the show