#monitors
I work in a hospital,
sterile, too bright, monitors beep,
everything's bleak except you.
I know you're dying and as I check your vital signs I try not to speak.
You tell me once you're better you'll take me to dinner,
I wish I was optimistic, I wish I didn't know better.
So instead I take my breaks in your room,
we sit there and talk over ****** hospital food.
When I work night shifts I watch your mother cry while you sleep,
It's eight o-clock, she hasn't had dinner, I remind her to eat.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC
Endless static rattles my confined domain
home to voices familiar--
always unwelcome.
Prolonged imprisonment; desperation
yields these chains not of mass.
Mere figments they are.
Are the screens and their unintelligible,
motioned illusions abstract enough
to conjure a new image
to obsess over?
Nay, I remain tranced, ridden
in dismay. No fulfillment.
Every image I decipher
escapes with the last.
Will trickling like icicles
before summer's Sun.
Subject I forever am to
this sadistic therapy.
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC