We can all be sectioned, our freedom removed by a couple of signatures,

And you're put away. Gone. If you do the unexpacted, be careful, 

Choose your moment. Nobody comes into your life and nothing happens

By mere coincidence. Trust your own instincts

But be careful,  remember:

There's an absence that appals:
closed doors, night sweats,

White walls.

It is the thing we first forget
which will eventually beget
this cringeing in the night
this too-familiar fright.

Or is it just the neurons as they play,
at hide and seek, all night, all day
which make us stare forever
at that place that's out of reach,

alone, bereft of speech?

Or is the child within us still crying
in the dark
and reaching out and missing
his mother's lonely heart?