I'm chained to this wall,
A belt round my neck,
Tongue tied, cannot call,
My heart's a ship wreck,
Sunken to the soul,
Where no light enters,
Just like this hell hole,
Where insanity centres,
Losing their patience,
With nurses incapable,
Of treating our minds,
The pain in our veins,
Or pain they can't find,
"Hopeless" they claim,
But in this darkness,
Fear is controlling,
Just like the madness,
Existing in the nursing,
And pain turns to death,
As rain turns to tears,
While they take their last breath,
For screams that last years
You are blessed with a mouth to speak,
but it takes patients to be perfect,
patient is the key no need to rush though.
You are blessed with 2 legs and 2 arms.
So why let fear run your life?
Why don't you just switch that over and run fear and accomplish things in life,
let fear, fear you. just do it!
Dutifully watching willows sway
Birds are lounging just beneath the overhang
Rain is gently pouring down the window pane
I sit hear raggedly alternating my vision
From you to it
It to you.
I don't know if you are conscious
I really hope you can hear me.
I stopped using words days ago
I plead to you from my soul.
Countless days and fruitless nights
I spent in chairs, couches and cold floors.
Fluorescent lights beaming down
Numbing every emotion as time slowly passes.
I look and wait
speak to others
hoping you will just chime in
Jealous that my attention was diverted.
No sound just shallow movements of your chest.
Time here is mounting deep within me
patience giving way to rage
I took deep calculations once
before I was 18
1/3 of my life was spent hospitals.
instead of learning about patience.
Mr McCormick whacked her with his stick.
His nurse that was, he didn't want to be bothered.
He was reading the paper.
A political persuasion.
He'd sat on his glasses, so he couldn't see.
Frustration aggression maybe the theory.
Mrs Brady, a lovely old lady.
Elderly, but beautiful as she reported how she cavorted and partied when younger.
She's missing it so much, a passionate hungers.
With stiff old joints she wanted to dance.
A bit of a stumble, potential to tumble.
She lives in a world of being risk assessed.
Mr Jones an old bag of bones.
Poor fellow he gave up on all of his food.
He knew what he wanted.
His family all tried to persuade him.
To eat his meals.
He gave up on living, henceforth; so he'd only sip from a caring cup.
The nurse bade him goodbye, as from this life he slipped.
Stand outside on the pavement.
The window's wide open.
See his spirit fly free.
ALL NAMES IN THIS PIECE ARE PURELY FICTIONAL.
A free bird I am,
I am free,
but I am in no way cheap,
I'll sell my personality,
to my patients daily,
just to earn a living wage,
I smile at you,
you smile at me,
as I rabbit on,
I have patients,
lots of them,
and lots of it,
they seem to like my pitter patter,
somewhat like raindrops,
sometimes I hold their hand,
but only clinically,
I'm not sure why,
they like me,
but they tell me that it's so,
I guess they really must do.