Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I sit beside you,
two sets of eyes glued to a splotched canvas before us.
I in the driver’s seat,
you in your captain’s chair.
I’m asking all these questions, but,
are you really there? I worry
when I look at you, and the
shock is painted on my face.
Others pass me under the moonlight and
tell me to leave this place.
They say, “you better get outta here, and get
while the getting is good.
This job will turn you inside out
and make you misunderstood.”

I sit beside you,
two sets of eyes glued to the canvas, as if it will restore us.
A cassette tape is forced through my brain,
the night’s events replayed.
My finger tap upon the glass,
and your hair is frayed.
Your figure in the captain’s chair,
with skin as cold as tin.
Which one of these got to your bones,
which one did you in?
Do you remember sights and sounds,
you wish you could forget?
Is that look upon your eye,
one of anger or regret?
Trauma is etched into your skin
like cracks on a weary canyon rock.
I need to know how you turned to you
if only you could talk.

I sit beside you.
Our eyes are glued to the splotched canvas, that which holds nothing
for us.
I work in an emergency ambulance. I was green, enthusiastic and filled with a sense of altruistic fulfillment. This attitude later became confusion and concern that I made a mistake as I continuously met people who seemed to have stared into that proverbial abyss for too long and became emotionally corrupted by it.
Amber K Sep 17
Every time I here sirens,
I think of you.
I think of the lights I saw.
The reds and the blues.
I had no idea it was you.
And to this day,
I still flinch at the thought,
that it could be someone else I care about.
Shared from my drafts. About the day I lost a friend to suicide.
Cassandra Sep 5
you put a line through the words on your calendar
your hands shake as you take off your dress
your eyes fill with tears as you pull on a hoodie- their hoodie
you fight your voice's small cries as you untangle the braids from your hair
luckily you hadn't put on your make up yet
it's not their fault
but that doesn't make it hurt any less
in the pit of your stomach, it still feels like you've been stood up
and you hate yourself for being so selfish
it was an emergency
they're texting you from the hospital waiting room
so smile for them, they need you to be okay right now
and you can do that for them
i love them
i waited patiently for today, even though i was already desperately hurting and needed to see them. now i have to wait even longer. why does it feel like the universe hates me? why does my love language need to consist of so much physical touch and quality time? why?
Anais Vionet Jun 25
We're at a hospital emergency room - no emergency for us, my mom's a doctor and she's consulting about something. It's 4 pm on a Wednesday - after school. I'm in the waiting room - playing chess on my iPhone. I hate standing around in hospital areas with my parents (both doctors) listening to endless medical-trade jargon.

The ER room is almost empty. A wino-******-looking guy comes in and sits across from me about two seats down to the left. I'm ignoring him, for the most part, but he's all shaky and his fidgeting draws my eye now and then.

After a couple of minutes, I think he's watching me.
Yep, he's pretty much staring at me, shaking, tapping his right heal like he’s sending Morris code to the aliens and wiping his mouth with a ball of toilet paper.

And NOW we've made eye contact - he smiles - two or three of his front teeth are missing. I return my eyes to my phone and try to concentrate on my game.

But he's staring at me, I can feel it.
I put my phone in my lap and look at him for a moment. What sad humanity.
His head is sort of nodding - like "I see you seeing me" with a slight grin.

"Why do you do it?" I ask, in a quiet voice, sitting up a little straighter.
His head bobs backwards in surprise - "Do what?" he slurs innocently.
I roll my eyes, to say, ok, never mind and start to bring up my phone.
"I just like it", he says, with a little wheeze and a touch of attitude. "Better than anything else"
I nod, to say "OK" Then after a second I go back to my game.

My mom comes out a couple of minutes later and naturally, I get up to leave with her. I pause and look back at the.. ***??
"Good luck", I say,
He sort of half waves
My mom holds up her hand a little to encourage me to come on with her.
As we go through the automatic glass doors she gives me the side-eye.
"He IS a person", I say defensively.
Three beats later, we both say, at the exact same time, "A ******* UP person!"
"Jinx!!" I say a millisecond before her. I give a savage fist-pump-of-victory.
"I want Ice cream" I say.
We both grin as the car unlocks.
a story about an Emergency room wait
Ken Pepiton Feb 10
Imagine good enough for once
and all we do may do good.

Corny, Provencial, San Juaquin,

come waltz with me,
my tilde, leave us oll rrroling rrs

all ye all ye outs in free, we are only one century

out of tune.

And we found a rready wrrited rreason to say

a used key is always bright.

Freedom of the press, is an abstraction frrom
freedom, per se, being in need of rights,
authoritatively apprrius osity curio

those be noise, not functing scipots, bags of wind.

we are the words that fit the pattern to the card,
for Mon Jacquard, once a soldier,
trained in close order drill,
a thread from there,

gives us software. The fruit of the sci sent to
Mon Jacquard,

words taught his fingers to fight.
There is a right fight.

It is nobody's war. Nobody fights it for you.

Come, let us imagine making peace in a cup,
until it spills,

and coats the world like Sherrwinn Williams.
Joy in musing may be shared or some such moral is in the whole story, I'm told.
Arkapravo Aug 2019
Then one day, the old man had enough,
... and, it wasn't the mushroom,
... neither the naplam,
... nor any other WMD,
.
.
.
... two degrees more, and that was all it took
Written on 12 October 2018. Also published at my blog, https://gaffingaround.wordpress.com/2018/10/12/gaffe-75/
Darryl M May 2019
There’s a part of you that senses that I love you.
There’s a part of me that approves.

You’re out of my reach,
But I still stretch.
Tryna grab your hand,
Folded it comes.

A foetus in the womb, my love for you.
Pregnancy pains, my heart for you.
A healthy newborn, our unity.

I don’t know what forever means,
But with you I’m about to find out.
Where do I limit my love,
If the skies fall in worship unto you?

You grew into me like a Chinese Bamboo tree on fertile soil.
Sonnet
Maaz Dec 2018
Stand on graves and cast out the helpless.
They arrive in waves to the illusion of hope.
A 'caravan' of people,
All begging for freedom,
But fear not,
They shall be murdered
for they are evil.

How can they expect asylum, safety & security,
from a land built on death?
Where those in power face no scrutiny.
Where an orange haired buffoon can thrive & prosper,
But mothers & fathers cannot afford a doctor.

Yet still these people come here seeking a better life and
how dare they do?
With hands calloused from hard work,
hearts filled with grief,
spirits filled with belief;
Don’t they know?

This is a land built out of the flesh of martyrs,
On a charter that helps oppress its own population,
A country that thrives off devastation.
A sociopathic society
Philomena Jan 2019
You looked so peaceful
Laying there
Silence except for the soft beeps and coughs on the floor
And I couldn't bring myself to leave you
Not even for a moment to close my eyes
You always seemed so strong
But here you looked frail
Strung up with wires and tubes
Eventually I grew tired of trying to stay busy
So I went to the window
And the lights love
You should have seen them
They were so brilliant and so quiet
Soft unlike every emotion flooding my heart
They were just like I remembered
Just like the first time I showed you the lights
And I didn't know it then
Just how much I love you now
Anxious as ever and can't sleep, but what else is new.
julie Jan 2019
911
"911, what is your emergency?"
"hard to describe"
"how can we help you"
"I think my heart broke"
"Sorry, we can't help you"
Next page