Encaging patients,
C Alyn
C Alyn
Jun 18

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,

Encaging patients,
Deemed untreatable,
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

#death   #insanity   #patience   #trapped   #caged   #cure   #patients  

Soft words
Scream loud thoughts

but it takes patients to be perfect,
Shima Haydarzadeh

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.

I wish


I would


have



been




the





patient






instead of learning about patience.

to my patients daily,
Olivia Kent

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.
(C) Livvi

DieingEmbers
Apr 17, 2013      Apr 17, 2013

I've a term-inal illness...

I'm sick
of these damn


exams

For Moonlight Blossom and all my friends taking their exams at the moment.
Katelyn
Katelyn
Feb 11

s h
a     k
i   n
   g
you were
s ha king
your life was planned out
by medical folders
hospital patient
hospital worker
you knew all about the
effects taking place in your body
but you were
r o o t e d
like a tree standing lone in a
h
u
  r
   r
    i
     c
      a
       n
        e
the angels were on your side
and you kept your smile
beside your bed in a glass box
as you slept

you wore it every morning

three years wasn't a long time but
it was long enough to travel the world
you were
j i tt
       e r
            y
like a child on christmas morning
but this wasn't a holiday
and you broke the glass that held
the only thing keeping your head high

"i'm going to die anyway"

yet you were rooted
both feet planted on the ground
a
j o u r
ne y
you were ready to walk
a dirt road followed by angels in white
optimism carried on silver platters

a week to a month wasn't long enough for
travelling to snow covered peaks and screaming
"i am free and you cannot change me"
you cannot change me
you cannot
change me
you stood
a l o n e
among angels covered in grime
silver platters turned to dust and
smiles falling, fading, gone
yet you
p
l
  a
   n
     t
      e
       d
both feet firmly to the ground and spoke
the words that tore the dirt off angels covered
in mud, brought snow covered peaks to you
"you cannot change me,
i am s t ro ng wi ll ed"

hospital bed
hospital room
hospital worker
you are brave

Written for my beautiful aunt, diagnosed with colon and liver cancer in June 2013; the struggle has been all too real. I love you, Aunt Annie.
who’d shave patients before leeching.
βέƦẙḽ Dṏṽ

England’s earliest physicians were barbers
who’d shave patients before leeching.

Barber
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barber

Leeching
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leech#Medicinal_use_of_leeches
.
James Welck
James Welck
Apr 21, 2012

If I get to you
                        I will
I will tell you everything
Every
Single
word
Beautiful, full of passion
Scream it at you, just to be sure you hear.
                                                                      even my screams are whispers
I never once said goodbye.
Goodbye is definite.
I said goodnight.
Until the very end.
                                You didn't notice, But I made sure
And it seems
Like the words only come
On nights like these
Drunk, once a month
Vomit words of love and romance
                                                           Drunken words rhyme with sober thoughts, I've been told
But when the moment comes.
I'll barrel-chest,
and puffy eye.
I'll sing you the sorrow of my heart.
Until you understand;
Everything means nothing.
Unless you're smiling sympathetically spontaneously.
                                                                                            Spontaneous combustion has never meant so much
And I promise.
Ten fold
A thousand fold.
That it will be soon.
                                   I've never been certain about anything but you.

here in the antiseptic dreams of cancer patients while you stare at the cracks in the ce

the subway is dark and cramped
fluorescent lights dim under the thick smog that shouldn't be here
your legs lock up
sudden
and then nothing
then only nothing
you don't come back until you're at the hospital
eyes bleary against the white light and yellow walls
as they press an oxygen mask against you
you can't help but wonder how you got here
here in the antiseptic dreams of cancer patients while you stare at the cracks in the ceiling
it's not that you can't dream
it's just that you don't
here against the black lights with pulsing music
here against the knife fights in dark alleys
you dislocate two fingers and enjoy the pain
you chain-smoke Marlboro's for an hour and a half
and by the time you've finished two packs your head is spinning and you can't think
you scribble on a piece of paper until you can't move your arms and the ink bleeds through onto the kitchen table
you can't breathe for three days and when you can again
the doctors tell you that there's something wrong
you shut your eyes and you forget how to open them
i.v.'s appear in your wrist after two days and you keep taking them out
at your funeral, you can't hear the songs they play
because you can't breathe inside that wooden box
you can see the stars flickering above you but your eyes are shut
you stop being able to remember the third grade
suddenly nothing
and then only nothing

 
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