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I awoke
and I was there someplace
in some bed
being attended to
by some male nurse
who had brought breakfast
on a tray

it had been a drugged sleep
and I recalled vague images
of the night before
some sort of descent
to a darker hell
and police officers came
and a struggle
and an ambulance
and medication
and off to some hospital
to be soothed
to a deep sleep

Where am I?
I asked the nurse

he said the name
of the place
some psychiatric hospital
and left the room

later I wandered the ward
and adjoining corridor
and spoke to none
and none spoke to me
except some quack
with letters after his name

later I tried to top myself
not wanting to play the game
but others came
and cut me down
and transferred me
to the locked ward
behind double doors
with other broken minds
and green linoleum
on cold floors.
Sometimes
You go to the
Hospital

And it's no one's fault
It's just something
That happens sometimes

There are some good things about
Going to the hospital:
Smiley nurses, chocolate pudding,

Cool laser-machines
With big, **** laser-jackets
That you put on to not radiate,

But most parts of the
Hospital aren't fun at all,
Some are really scary

They can poke you,
They can probe you,
They even electrocuted me

Ten times,
Four on my left side
And six on both sides

But no matter
How bad it hurts
Or how afraid you feel,

Just remember:
♡It's not your fault♡
It's just that something

That sometimes
Happens to
People

All People,
Big people,
Little people,

Old people a lot,
But beautiful people go too!
And even animals have hospitals!

Everybody gets sick!
Everybody gets hurt!
Everybody eventually dies!

That's when you
Go to hospital
But they can't fix

The thing:
Your hurt or your sick or
Your crazy

And then you
Get buried and turn
To dirt and get eaten by worms

But most times,
Every time for me so far,
You get out better

Maybe not great,
But better
And better can be a whole lot

When your feeling low
Or when your worried you might die
Getting out is the best part!

But you'll probably go again
Because that's just what people do
We go to hospitals sometimes
I don't like hospitals
...
But I seem to
Attract them
....
Written outside
The UNI Psych
Ward

(Not currently a resident)
I will never tell them
Of the man in hospital chair beside me,
Chest hair poking through blue paper scrubs,
More than was on his head.
His locks like dull gray wires on scalp,
Jutting into the air as if charged,
Leaving a shiny full moon patch of skin on top.
I will never tell them
The way his beard seemed to stretch as he bent my direction,
Joining forces with the follicles on his chest,
The way his breath seemed to steal mine as he occupied my space.
I will never tell them
About the man whose name starts with M.
They will know I could not look him in the eyes to see their color.
They will not know how old he looked when he stretched my way,
Voice barely audible over the din
Of other patients screaming and thrashing in their restraints,
Yells of babies ****** out under drugged hazes,
The wild fantasies of diseased minds.
They will not know.
I will never tell them
How his muscles flexed when he stood,
Shouting at another patient,
The fight,
His eyes seeking mine as if for approval.
They will know I did not look.
I will never tell them how he took my hand,
Mumbling into my ear about how soft was my skin,
Arms draped over my wheelchair, uninvited
As I huddled under blankets.
I will never tell them
How my best friend watched,
My teddy bear given to me at birth.
Although not human,
I regret my inability to shield her eyes from this abomination of a man.
She will know that I tried to tell him no.
She will know that staff walked by,
Blind to my waving hands,
Unable to hear the silent whoosh of air passing through my damaged vocal chords
As I begged for their assistance.
I will never tell them
The way he rubbed my back or traced my arm
Before settling his hands too high on my thigh to be polite.
I cannot say more here.
I will never tell them
About the ice in my stomach,
Flooding through my body,
Already numb to my circumstance,
Afraid that he would merely lift my withered body from my chair
And do what he intended on the floor.
No faith had I that staff were the slightest bit of help.
The interest of other patients in my voiceless body
Was a welcome distraction to the psychiatrist
Doling out necessary medication to those more dangerous than I.
I will never tell them
What he did to me in the common area,
Stuffed bear the only one present of mind enough to bear witness.
Therapist has a word for his actions,
Not one I had ever intended to apply to my story,
Something reserved for the unfortunate lot of others,
Assault.
I will never tell them
His name like jagged teeth
Or the way his hands wandered without consent.
For in their minds I am nothing without corroboration,
And HIPPA law will prevent that.
After all, was I not merely a mental patient anyway?
Zywa Sep 8
The hospital drinks

patient blood three times a day –


Well, no vampires here.
Health Care Centre of Our Lady, location East, ICU

Collection "BloodTrunk"
पुरानो कागत ल्याउनु भएन?
* छुटेछ बाबु
हिजो आज कुन औषधि, कति खादै हुनुहुन्छ?
* मैले?
* त्यो ३१० रुपैया पर्ने
* पहिले १९० मा पाइन्यो
* बाबुलेनै २ महिना अघि पावर बढाएको

अब भन्नुस् वहाले
कुन औषधि कति पावरको
सेवनगर्नु भएको?
शैली : क्लिनिकल प्रयोगात्मक
विषय : निशब्द
विचार : किताव भित्र नपढेको गुरुले नपढाएको सिक्दैजाने प्रक्रियानै आखिरमा रहेछ क्लिनिकल प्रैक्टिस
धूम्रपान गर्नुहुन्छ?
अँह
रक्सी पिउनुहुन्छ?
अँह
अनी माछामासु नी?
अँह

सोध्न मन लागेको थियो
अनी रमाइलो कसरि
गर्नु हुन्छ?
शैली : क्लिनिकल प्रयोगात्मक
विषय: मनै त हो
Damian Murphy Aug 13
They are mostly elderly, frail, ghostly pale, lying there in their beds, comatose. Drugged out of their heads on painkilling meds, rarely with their mouths closed, though many with their teeth close. Tubes in their nose or oxygen masks for those for whom breathing has become too much of a task, I suppose. Totally oblivious to all those of us who have chosen to visit, just to be close. Lost in a world of their own, fighting battles unknown to most of us.
Emma Peterson Aug 13
I can’t go in.
The smell of medicine that isn’t working,
Desperately masked by overwhelming sanitizer that stings my nose as I inhale.
No sunlight makes its way through the windows.
It fails to even reach through the clouds.

I haven’t seen blue skies in months.
I’m cold, clammy from the perpetual rain conspiring with a nervous sweat.

This room is too big.
Too big and only four people sitting around the same coffee table.
There are four people, but no one makes eye contact --
They try to hide a fear they never expected.

I stare ahead at the doors.
The doors I simultaneously crave and dread opening,
Is ignorance torture of bliss?

Why am I out here?
Why aren’t I in her room?
I know she’s in pain, why can’t anyone help her?
Is she dying?
What if she’s dying?
What if she’s dying all alone?
What if she’s dying surrounded by strangers with medical degrees?
What if she’d prefer that I’m not there?
What if I exhaust her, bother her, multiply her suffering?
What if she doesn’t recognise me when I go in?
What if her hearts beating and her eyes are blinking, but she’s not there?

What if I never get to see my mom again?

To smell her perfume,
Hear her voice, her laugh,
Touch her skin.
Feel her soft hand holding mine,
Feel her arms around me as she holds me close
Keeping out any monsters that could poison my mind.

Those monsters don’t scare me anymore.
My fear comes from sitting in an empty house that’s no longer a home.
My fear is knowing without you, I’ll never be at home.
My fear is the thought that you died resenting your daughter
Who never took the chance to say goodbye.
My fear is that on those days where the sky is gray, my eyes are tired, my ears don’t want any more music, food tastes like sawdust, I can’t get up from my bed, and my heart feels gray, that I won’t bounce back, my soul will be consumed by the emptiness caused by your absence.
My fear is every morning waking up. The feeling that you’re gone, and there’s nothing I can do to ever see you again.
I miss you.
Steve Aug 7
Sitting in the waiting room
Listening for your name
Watching the nurses
Playing their game
Seats on bums
Medical chums
We’re all waiting to hear a name
“The consultant will see you now
. . . . Mr Black”
Sitting at the back
I was here long before him,
Gentleman Jim
It’s always the same
Sitting here waiting to hear your name
Not wanting to be called
But waiting here just the same.
I’ve been doing a bit of this lately :)
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