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"hopsital" poems
I have a poem written in my notebook, but I think it can wait. Because, at this moment, I have something else to say. ****** Sick because of the Randy Mumble Take me to the hopsital, unbury me from the Rubble. I think this is sounding lame, but I'm a cliché; it's my claim to fame. Not fame, per sé, I don't like the lime light. But behind the scenes, and of course the clubs at night. This poem isn't very good. It's more like a diary entry, than a piece of poetry. I think the one in my notebook is better.
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Jan 21, 2010
Jan 21, 2010 at 11:57 AM UTC
**** it
kissing you tastes like hospital food so good in the moment, i was famished. i needed you to fill me up make me happy and whole I could see everything as it should. I remind myself that I'm eating hospital food. cold and packaged for days, reheated by numerous microwaves and infected with heartbreak bacterium and the notion that when you touch my lips, someone I love, is dying.
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Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
hopsital food
A year ago today I considered all too much pushing down the steady acceleration of my sixteenth birthday present I don't remember much. The song "Breathe me" by Sia was playing national anthem of bullied hearts white noise for steel crushing breathless air 10 minutes away from my house is the hospital I have timed it. 6 minutes, no red lights, or unexpected traffic On April 5th 2011 I prayed for unexpected traffic broken red lights moments of prolonged pain. I wanted wounds for a reason inflicted by something besides myself because of someone else Instead, my sixteenth birthday present drove me to therapy 45 minutes away from my house 35 minutes away from the hopsital
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Apr 5, 2012
Apr 5, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
4.5.12
A man asked me why I was more afraid of people than I was a hopsital. With a heavy, yet numb heart, I replied: "I have had more IVs than I ever had hugs."
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Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Chronic
Wipe those tears away and fix your face Clean the blood thats dripping down your arms You're going to be wearing long sleeves for a while. God forbid these scars are seen or right back to the mental hopsital you go
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Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 10:15 PM UTC
Note to self:
Who would be the one to tell my boyfriend, That I was dead? Would he visit me in the hopsital beforehand?
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May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
Untitled