Alone in his world of self-awareness
Wesley Whalon died of language

                                   The Watch                                          
                                                                                                              Frances Cornford        1886 –1960
I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went        
Like my continual discontent,
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
               Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.               

An artist
can fly, run and rejoice.
He is free and nothing holds him back.
As he paints,
his act of creation
releases him from himself.

​​​On the Asylum Road
                                                                                                  Charlotte Mew     1869 – 1928
I am so tired, so tired.
I see too much. I comprehend
the world at once, God's hand in it,
my own room, and the end.
I know too much; I have seen too much.
I am so sick, so sick, so sick.
O Death, come quick, come quick, come quick.

Aloïse Corbaz    1886-1964

Henri Matisse      1869 - 1954

I couldn't really call it a cure.
It didn’t heal my sickness,
but it set me free
It allowed me
to find a way to escape.
A way in which I could express my pain.

Autopsy Report
                                                                         From a report in a Dallas newspaper
Almost a year after the last time he had spoken to anyone
the skeleton of a 54-year-old recluse has been found
kneeling beside his bed and clutching a bible.
Wesley Whalon had become a hermit after his third marriage failed.
He had made a visit to his sister on Christmas Eve
and said he would contact her later.
He never did.
His body was discovered by a man who wanted to buy the house.
She
What is it that you want from life?
He
That which
the touch  -  the sound  -   the taste   -   the smell   -   the vision
of your
skin    -   voice   -   lips   -   hair  -   eyes
can never provide
She
What is it that you do not want from life?
He
That which would control
the touch   -   the hearing   -  the taste   -   the smell   -   the vision
of my being

​

Inside the Asylum
Poetry is a form of literary expression that uses language to evoke emotions.
It creates imagery and conveys ideas in a condensed and often rhythmic form.
It can address any subject matter, from love and nature to politics and social issues,

making it a powerful tool for personal and artistic expression.
                                                                                                                                                                                                            Artificial Intelligence         Timeless