The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls, not a place you want to be...or any insane asylum for that matter. Trust me been there done that. I’m amazed they let me out of there. I knew a girl there, I still know her. Her name is Emilie, Emilie Jones. I always admired her when  we were locked up. Sitting in the corner writing poetry, and singing to herself. I remember wanting to get out of there. We were on so many drugs I didn’t realize anything but wondering why I was still stuck there. I knew I wasn’t crazy, just about going insane, on the inside. So I better start at the very beginning.

As I entered in the car, there was a feeling of nervousness washing over me. Like I knew I didn’t belong here. Rain drops fell like fresh tears on the windows with a coal black sky above us. We came to a  large set of  iron gates, they opened slow, creaking, cold. Then the next set and the next and the next till we got to the long dirt path that lead to the place I didn’t want to ever get to. The Asylum.

Trust me there is more....