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Lying on the cold kitchen floor
Tears streaming down her face
Her cheeks are burning worse than they ever have before
A twinge of pain in a hip rendered weak
A wave of depressive agony wipes over her face again
Screaming above her head, words that make no sense
Quotations around the pain her mother uses
A cold dragging stagger walk to a hospital all by herself.
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?
Safana Sep 1
I was...
Like a sick,
when I heard
you gone, not
very far but
a Hospital
And
Now, I am
fully of pride
and energetic,
Cuz, you are
rehabbed
may you be
able-bodied than
ever.
I wish you well recovery, Hauwa
In 2009, The american disaster film "2012" was released.
Preparing for "The End of The World" was easy.

A piece of cardboard at a Red Light.


"2012 The End Is Nigh, What's a dollar?"


We might as well have smiled, given a friendly wave,
honked our horns like we were passing the Freeport Flag Ladies.


In 2012, I was in high school with my first job.

I didn't care that In the twinkling of an eye,

we were gonna hear God's last trumpet.

On Rapture-Eve, I set out "Milk N' Cookies" for the "Left-behind"

I left next mornings outfit on the side of the road as if Angels abducted me ****-*** naked mid-stride

Turns out, the red light never turned green.

The "left-behind" kept breeding

and Hell on earth just kept recruiting

Now it's 2020,

The Freeport Flag Ladies are in Quarantine,

the signs have needles in our eyelids like mechanical spiders,

You can't even turn the news off now,

I pick it up at CVS Like a Controlled substance prescription.

They make you call in once a month to get it refilled.

Some how my amazing wife Amy and I

Not only survived the rapture,
we brought a brand new life into it.

For 10 days we were locked in a hospital

We never looked at the news.

The world melted away as we danced together

Waiting to meet our little miracle.

After Amy was whisked away for intensive surgery
and survived the most unspeakably amazing thing in the world
a nurse eventually grabbed me and asked if I wanted to meet my daughter,
I was guided to a baby table

with knobs, meters, heat lamps,

and on a tiny cushion

in a tiny plastic crib,

My daughter.


Sophia Naomi Mae Coulombe.


wide eyed

staring into my pupils

wiggling

perfect

Now we are home.

No nurses, no IV.

Somehow it feels like the end of the world and all it's chaos
was the best thing that has ever happened to us.

Everything happened exactly when it needed too.


We couldn't have had better timing

if God planned it.
I would love any editing advice! I know this poem is raw and precious, but please feel open to being savage with the red pen!
Susanna Aug 18
oversharing
undercaring
people staring
lights glaring
Rose Jul 28
Tough times don’t last but tough people do
And I know that together we will pull through
It’s just you and me and me and you
You and me, me and you

I’ll try to fake that it doesn’t exist
Make it fade away like the morning mist
But one thing will never change, and that’s together
Is when we believe that everything gets better

We try to keep each other stronger
But we really can’t hold on much longer
But the whole world is in this together
Whether we like it or not

I’ll try to close my eyes and just pretend
But no matter what, we’ll remain friends
And one thing will never change, and that’s together
Is when we believe that everything gets better

I’ll stand near the bed
Help you up when you can’t stand
Cuz I know that you’ll get better soon

Cuz even if it looks like the world’s demise
We know that the sun will always rise
And I know that you’ll get better soon

Hold your hand in mine
Stand up and we’ll show the world
That everything gets better

I’ll climb the walls and see you through the window
One last time before you leave and go
I’ll no longer feel your hand in mine
Your hand in mine

When this all cools down, we’ll lie down on the floor
And we’ll all laugh at how it was before
If there’s one thing we can’t deny, it’s that together
That’s when everything gets better
This is a poem about losing a loved one through sickness.
Joseph Koch Jul 3
Am I awake?
This simulation feels so real
My every waking moment
Masks and hazmat suits fuel my fear
This ******* nightmare
Somebody get me out of here

I don't know what I'm saying
I just don't ******* sleep
They wait for me inside my dreams
Another **** stain
On some brand new sheets

Now In a few days
I'll be back on the street
Old holes holes in my socks
The same dirt on my jeans
In the back of my head
I know I'll never really leave

Wake me up again
Slice my skin
Take my blood
Push my medicine
Experience in hospital during Covid-19.
A few weeks and 2 major surgeries. I wrote this when I hadn't slept in over 5 full days.

The poem is about my state if mind during this particular hospital stay. I should not hsve lived this time, and I should not have lived when I was shot either. I hope anyone enjoys the manically written poem above.
Jenifer S May 24
The all-encompassing blanket of white engulfs the hearts barely beating
Time and space linger from moving forward, delaying
Silence stretches for miles within the compressed block
Disrupted by the continues steady beats of the clock
Counting down each second before the arrival of death
Some wishing sooner to take their last breath
While others attempt to stall it with will and wealth


All of man's riches, achievements and glory reduced to a fading memory
Only a few-feet bed to call their own, their last treasury
Awaits to be passed down from the dead to the dying
As the armed man walks freely in this room, brushing past those lying
Through the occasional wheezes of the dumb, his voice is heard
Communicating the message of forewarning through  the unsaid word
He has much not to be said as he waits in the midst of the dying herd


There's no beauty in the dying days
Only an ugly mess painted clearly on their face
The stench of corps not yet dead
Waiting and awaiting with dread
Dripping down the corners of their mouth, their untold stories
Reminiscing sorrowfully upon their past glories
And filling their final thoughts with regrets of unsolved quarries

I walk for miles and miles unable to exit this tiny room
Struggling to escape the impending doom
Death's silent whispers still echoing in my ears
The stabs of reality bringing to my eyes, tears
Even though my time here remains with uncertain deals
I feel that death has stolen a part of me that most appeals
Sneaking away seconds of life from time to time as he feels
Moomin May 23
There are Angels among us
Metaphorical Angels
They have no wings to fly
No superhuman powers to call upon
And no ability to remain unseen
They dance to the tune of human need
Become a crescendo in this dark time
She leaves her little one asleep at dawn
With aching heart and weary eyes
For even Angels tire out
She enters Hell where monsters roam
Little creatures with verocious appetite
Leaving lungs and lamenting in their path
She stands her ground and grapples fear
For even angels are in need of courage
She gathers the sweat and blood and tears of strangers
And soothes them to life or death
Yet while she suffocates in misery and mask
Selfishness abounds outside
And those restrained insist on fun
They gather together in revelry
Kissing flesh and adoring sun
She sees them on the nightly news
While she strokes her daughters brow
And comforts her with unfulfillable promises
Yet though they have the right to be free
They make her burden heavy and sad
With more victims for her ordeal
Yes, they have the right to take the loaded gun
To play roulette with their stubborn lives
Yet when the game involves warheads and virus
They invite death for others too
Who did not choose to enter the deadly casino
For even angels die!
Dedicated to our wonderful nurses
I'm back in the psyche ward again.
It's my home away from home,
next to jail and the emergency room.
I sat under the bridge the other night.
It was January, and extremely cold.
I was jonesing for a drink—I knew what I had to do.
I had only been out of jail for a
couple of days for another public intox.
I narrowly avoided going back to the can today.
My nut-job girlfriend said,
"Why don't you get us some wine? " "Sure, " I said.
Shaking and sick, I walked a mile to
my favorite store that I steal ***** from.
I arrived, and had a bad feeling, but I
don't pay much attention to feelings anymore.
In and out is always the plan.
A bottle of chardonnay down the front
of the pants, and one in the coat.
I thought I had it. I was wrong.
A customer saw me and snitched me off.
I went with the manager to his office.
A cop showed up shortly afterwards.
I engaged the store-guy with talk of literature.
It turned out he was an
English major.
I wrote down the title of my book,
and slipped it to him. He put the paper
in his wallet. He told the cop that I was very cooperative.
Instead of taking me to jail,
the cop gave me a citation with a
court date on it, and let me go.
Sometimes, providence smiles on me.
On my way back to the apartment,
I was already planning the next store to hit,
I needed a drink.
The cop, from the store, pulled up along side of me,
and said,
"Your girlfriend called, she said she didn't
want you at her place anymore.
All your stuff is in front of her door."
I felt like I'd been run over by a rhino.
The cop said,
"I'll give you a lift, jump in."
When I arrived, there were two loosely
packed bags of clothes weighing around 100 pounds.
There was no way in hell that I could
have carried all that crap eight miles to Iowa City.
I grabbed a back pack, and stuffed it with a pair
of jeans, two shirts, my writing, and a copy of Don Quixote.
I went outside and waved to the cop, then headed towards town.
I finally made it back to the bridge.
I waited to get the nerve to make
my next move—steal wine.
I did it, and with no cork *****,
I opened it with a broken ink pen.
I'm not complaining, it was the needed elixir
and it went down like nectar of the gods.
I drank it quick, it was three degrees out.
Life had to change.
This was getting real old.
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