A vulture flies over the hospital.
After a meal, we never feel full.
We eat it all, but it’s never enough.
A few weeks in here will make you feel tough.
Stronger than iron, but weaker than will.
Today, you are strong, but wait until
They change your meds, give you the wrong drug.
It’ll leave you angry, like a violent ****.
Wait one more week, wait one more day.
Stay here forever, it’s better that way.
They give you warmth, and food to eat,
All of your meds, a bed to sleep.
But you cannot stay, your time here is done.
Look back at the window, the vulture is gone.

Pitchforks torment us all silently
Ghosts in their sheets and the devils
Lingering among the Halls
It is full of strangers
A strange emptiness
The bleached white walls
This strange place
Is not
Death

So here I am,
all wired up
and feeling weird,
but, it is not quite
as scary as I had feared.
I am just chilling out
here in my hospital bed,
with staff checking
periodically
that I'm not dead.

My gown has got gaps
where gaps shouldn't be,
revealing parts of my body
that folks shouldn't see!
The cardiac ward
is not my choice
of a holiday home
and not the vacation
that I wished to go on.

Yesterday afternoon
the consultant
did their walk,
visited and spoke
in medical talk,
but, I just nodded
and agreed, although
Myocardial Regurgitation
completely baffled me!

(Thank the lord for Google!)

Sadly I have
to pay to watch TV,
but hey,
at least the WiFi is free.
The nurses are awesome,
they check my stats
and bring cups of tea,
and someone else
is cooking my meals for me.

©️Lizzie Bevis

my grandmother unscrewed
the door to my room
and removed the carpet from my floor

in the winter months
my toes went white and my fingertips hued blue
my lips marred red as i looked to the ceiling
and pondered my importance in this reality

i went to sleep that night and had a dream
i thought was so clever
in this dream i said: 'Roses are sometimes red, and violets
are rarely blue'.
Somebody hand me a Pulitzer this instant

in hindsight, my dreams were foretelling
as i awoke in the hospital with a headache
and diagnosis of hypothermia
the nurses and social workers sat in chairs
with my grandmother beside them  

i closed my eyes and visualized all the
yellow roses and white violets often overlooked
and with a few smiles
and words of affirmations to the guests judging my performance
I received a standing ovation
of vibrant violets and beautiful deep reds thrown on stage
and returned to the Tiled Floors.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and his hair has already fallen out in chunks
and his eyebrows are thinning
and his skin has turned to flaking paper.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and he doesn't come to school as often anymore
and though he used to be gifted, his grades have dropped
and his eyes are just two empty pools of water.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and i wish i knew him more to offer comfort or aid
and decipher if that smile on his lips is fake or not
and tell him I care. because i do.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and my cheeks used to flush whenever i saw him
and i used to write poems about his blonde locks
but i never confessed because it doesn't even matter anymore.

there's a boy in my class who's sick
and i worry that one day
i'll never see him again.

there are no beds
so they are contacting
God
to see if there is a vacancy
but it looks like
not even that entity
wants you yet

In the cold, dark I sit,
Bereft of your warmth.  
Assailed by cacophonic din
Without your buffer.

I am shattered.

Black secrets descend upon my dreams
And chase sleep from my bed;
As swift as the purple night
And as uncaring as the wine-dark sea.

My mind drifts to you,  
Lying in the half-world of sedation,
Body pierced through
With vines of plastic and wire.

Discordant melodies surround you,
My heart keeping distant time,
While shades strive to
Make whole what is broken.

Through the pain, I keep vigil,
Me in my hell, you in yours,
Until your sweet voice sounds
And we reunite in dreams less dire.

laying in a hospital bed.
gown drawn to my toes.
a small ****** box tv stuffed away in the corner.
all sick and pale.
tissues and chocolate pudding flooding the side table.
i have tubes running through my veins.
******* the life out of me,
isn’t exactly pretty, is it?

would you sit by my bed?
would you sit for hours on end playing endless card games?
or would you do what everyone else does?
run away.
freaked out, scared.
running away from the problem.
from the thing that causes them stress.
causes them to spiral,
to break down.
i am that thing.
so with all this weighing on you,
like bricks on your shoulders,
would you visit me?