Sometimes I miss it.
The uncomfortable seats and the nervous tapping.
Dozens of eyes staring on through.
The panic in a mother's eyes and
How quick feet left a crowded room.
I'm nostalgic for my misery,
Because I knew it so well,
Because it knew me, too.

Comforting is a tragedy,
When it's one you've learned to recite
Day after day, the same practiced smile
Then bleeding it out by my own hand
Night after night.
I knew my lines well,
I'd known my whole life.

I miss it some days,
the adrenaline of the ER.
I know that it's wrong,
But breaking felt so right.
My demons have mostly gone,
And for that I thank myself.
But if it ever gets too safe out here,
I'll retire to my old bed.
I'll welcome back my old friends
With my hospital bracelet
wrapped around pink wrists again.