White on White

At the end,
Of this endless tunnel,
Somewhere,
Far ahead,
I can see ivory.
White on white.
Is it heaven?
Or a mental hospital,
Blanketed in purity.
A calming sight,
Soothing pearl.
I think it’s a hospital.
Angel’s wouldn’t carry around insulin,
Would they?
Or maybe its not medication.
But spiritual salvation.
Saving me.
From damnation.
I tell myself it’s the shock treatments talking.
Yes, that’s it. The shock treatments.
This,
It isn’t me.
Is this God?
The feeling of nine thousand,
Nine thousand gah-jillion volts,
Shaking my bones out of my skin,
And onto the cold, white tile.
If this is God,
I secretly hope this isn’t his love,
But instead his fury.
Why do I have a feeling,
That this is his love,
And I know not his fury?