heart rate at 23 beats per minute.
people pacing, patients fading,
and i take my sweet time, not grieving in it.
called to cut, scalpel in hand;
sliding through their skin
at my own command.
mindless and ignoring
the moans and groans
between the man’s snoring
and the chill in his bones.
and as i intervened within his dreams
there came a scream from he
and a thrill within my bloodstream.
“pain”.
pain is an illusion.
an illusional delusion.
i’ve heard complaints
of pain from punches
but i tell you,
these pleas for ease
are false yet i
answer to them to appease.
you must not be so quick to judge
my sanity or insanity
or lack of grievances for calamities.
i swear to you,
i am not ill,
nor do i crave to ****
and though you’d think that
from the way i behave,
it is not com-plex,
not con-vex nor con-cave.
my sole purpose,
i believe so,
is to serve others
by easing their “pain”.
do not underestimate me,
nor the amount
of lives i’ve “saved”.
i am telling you
of a true story
from the perspective of myself
ten years time ago.
this was when i,
for once,
had a twinkle in my eye.
i run the midnight shift
and spend most of my free time
with the patient in room 46.
i lay in bed beside him
and together we dream.
with our hands intertwined,
we dream that the stars align,
and i wish for patient 46 to be fine.
as i fill patient 46’s lungs with air,
he fills mine with a kind of
sensation no one could ever replace
and though i will never be able to
accurately describe it,
i wish the feeling will never go away.
rapid response team.
running.
i’m running,
reaching for my dream.
patient 46 is running (out of time),
reaching for the heaven’s gleam.
51 beats…28…9…flatline.
patient 46 dead on january 23 at 23:59.
“pain”
pain is an illusion,
an illusional delusion.
i’ve heard complaints
of pain from punches
but i tell you,
these pleas for ease
are nothing
compared to love’s disease.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
heart rate at 23 beats per minute.
people pacing, patients fading,
and i take my sweet time, not grieving in it.
called to cut, scalpel in hand;
sliding through their skin
at my own command.
mindless and ignoring
the moans and groans
between the man’s snoring
and the chill in his bones.
and as i intervened within his dreams
there came a scream from he
and a thrill within my bloodstream.
“pain”.
pain is an illusion.
an illusional delusion.
i’ve heard complaints
of pain from punches
but i tell you,
these pleas for ease
are false yet i
answer to them to appease.
you must not be so quick to judge
my sanity or insanity
or lack of grievances for calamities.
i swear to you,
i am not ill,
nor do i crave to ****
and though you’d think that
from the way i behave,
it is not com-plex,
not con-vex nor con-cave.
my sole purpose,
i believe so,
is to serve others
by easing their “pain”.
do not underestimate me,
nor the amount
of lives i’ve “saved”.
i am telling you
of a true story
from the perspective of myself
ten years time ago.
this was when i,
for once,
had a twinkle in my eye.
i run the midnight shift
and spend most of my free time
with the patient in room 46.
i lay in bed beside him
and together we dream.
with our hands intertwined,
we dream that the stars align,
and i wish for patient 46 to be fine.
as i fill patient 46’s lungs with air,
he fills mine with a kind of
sensation no one could ever replace
and though i will never be able to
accurately describe it,
i wish the feeling will never go away.
rapid response team.
running.
i’m running,
reaching for my dream.
patient 46 is running (out of time),
reaching for the heaven’s gleam.
51 beats…28…9…flatline.
patient 46 dead on january 23 at 23:59.
“pain”
pain is an illusion,
an illusional delusion.
i’ve heard complaints
of pain from punches
but i tell you,
these pleas for ease
are nothing
compared to love’s disease.
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