"infirmary" poems
My heart feels heavy,
And then it feels light.
My world is turning to the left,
And then it turns to the right.
One day I’ll be happy,
And then I’ll be sad.
Like waking up sane,
And going to bed mad.
This has to be a joke,
Or some kind of trick;
As to why I can’t relax.
I think I might be lovesick.
The world stands still
When I look in your eyes.
Eventually it’ll spin again
When we say our goodbyes.
Burning brighter than ever,
You’re the fire to my wick;
Melting me away,
I think I might be lovesick.
I’m on top of the world,
But I am falling fast.
Closer and closer to you,
But I’ll speed right past.
My heart stops for you,
Like a bomb that fails to tick.
Send me to the infirmary
Because I think I’m lovesick.
I've been to every doctor,
And they've ran every test,
Still they don’t know what
Is going on in my chest.
They say its racing back and forth,
To one pace, it won’t stick.
They say I’m losing control
Because I am lovesick.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
I fell asleep
To the smell of antiseptic,
Sterilizer, biogesic,
And the cold touch of metal
Rods that only seem
To grow colder
With the touch of hospital
Left in the student's
Ward - a whistle
Permeates the silence
Of seniors
Painlessly sleeping away
Hours upon
Hours until graduation -
A coming of age -
An escapism from past papers
And teachers who have
Themselves given up
On them.
And the lights you
See are as bright
And as empty as those blinking
Feebly
In that of the school doctor's
Office, one not really
Blinking more of
Washed, and supported
Wobbling by daylight
Seeping in through peeling blinds,
Unable to see too much -
The headaches and stomachaches
Have rendered him numb
To the feeling.
And lunch comes
And out blows the whistle to
Signify the end
Of playtime for
The young ones, start
Of playtime for
The older ones,
Whistle blowing muffled
By the septic tank glass
Doors of this sacred outhouse,
Wards muffling the cries of children
As they flee the quadrangle,
Once mad, twice elated,
Still innocent, untired,
Not needing to fake sick
And rest their heads softly
Upon thin soft beds with
Towels wrapped haphazardly
Behind their backs,
Nostalgia, it was
Laughter, I swear it was louder
When we used to run,
When our eyes lit up like
The sun petering in through
The doctor's orifices,
When our bruises and bumps
Smelled like betadine,
Not sleep
And cups of sterile water downed
To mask the scent of
Fake cough syrup,
And cuts gotten from fiddled syringes,
Bruised ankles
Bent over undersized beds,
And not running over
Uneven pavement,
Ankles brushing tablecloth,
Schoolbag,
Basketball and frisbee,
And the screaming.
Oh, how I miss
The screaming.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
You managed to horribly fail every test
Yet you bore the honorary family crest
Until you abandoned me
As friendship isn't free
Leaving me incapacitated
In the infernal infirmary
You had only exacerbated
My own gory purgatory
But I want to see the end of the story
Though it's not going well
Carrier pigeons bring messages of your progress
By ******** on my head
I solve the problem
By staying in my bed
When all I see is red
From all the blood we bled
There was a deep connection
Crossed with a ****** infection
You were so fundamentally friendly
Was it just for the drugs we were blending?
Now I just have nightmares of your life ending
And ponder the value of the time we were spending
Your spirit animal is a coyote
Mine an exploding car
My fragile heart is imploding
From all the black tar
Coming from your lips like the needle
Rushing through my veins until I'm fetal
From your sedating voice
I heard an invading choice
Live alone or die alone
The dog gnawed the bone with it's clone
I just want to hear you're doing fine
So I can stop feeling so **** guilty
And I don't have to hear about you again
For my heart has been untamed
When I feel this constant pain
From a friendship down the drain
There is no peace to be attained
For the friendly fire in my brain
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 5:57 AM UTC
media says you
obey the new curfew
the men in black suits
drooped there blues just to hit you
oath breakers lament at the days of justice
glad that there gone, joyous warrior busts sit
in place of the ten in court houses and school pits
correctional facilities a mural of magnanimity
fasad removed infirmary's
making monsters of men once just true to peace
that's why I must say don't just police the police
put in brief question everything
even the words I'm saying
if all this **** hits
any resistance will be terrorism
any act will be justifiable in the name of containment
and no injustice
no matter how grievous
will need anything more to be welcomed
as the flag "to stop the Ebola"
50% chance of death to all infected
100% chance to rule the world
1% chance to have a peace of the pie
99% chance to die
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
It hurts, it hurts more than when I ended up in hospital, I slipped from the curved metal stairs and cracked all my ribs,
You sat on the frosty steel chair and fed me warm leek soup all day, I was high and *we cracked *** jokes all through the visiting hours*.
Or when I fractured my right leg and couldn’t walk for months, you wheelchaired me to all my revered museums,
And when it rained that evening and I felt trapped and pathetic in the ****** wheelchair,
*You lifted me up and twirled me around and kissed every sore spot in my body including my terrible heart,
Till I started laughing, all giddy and intoxicated with your droplets brushed lips*
Or when I burnt my fingers while making green curry and you had to take me to infirmary,
They bandaged my fingers in bubblegum pink gauze an told me the scars would never leave and I wouldn’t be able to write or hold you for a week,
You made me churros that whole week with Swiss choc dipping and kissed all my scars away, painting vibrant swallows on them.
I loved you, so much it made me insane, but it also made me breathe. Funny, how the direction of the wind has changed.
It hurts now, more than it ever did, I stand on the steps of metropolitan museum of art and the ache in my veins magnifies,
The longing ablaze like all your plaid shirts, nirvana records and all the synthetic lilies you gave me, quoting they will never dry up, Like our love will always remain, burning on my terrace
Funny how, now I don’t believe a sentence you said.
I sing all the songs we loved for the last time, to get it all out, of my system and bleeding heart.
My lips get greedy for the praised lyrics and midnight kisses.
The rocking chair in the balcony swinging in the breezy night I hope it’s you, my eyes left disappointed at the empty gloomy sight
My heart getting accustomed to Bukowski instead of much devoured Rilke.
Sometimes in life you never understand why they left, why it ended all of a sudden?
When did you stop loving me and when all my importance vanished into thin air like you did?
Sometimes all that is left to do is accept it and move on, and that may be the seemingly impossible part.
Sometimes you just have to pour water to the vivid fire for putting gasoline was proving to be poisonous and CHOKING.
Jul 6, 2013
Jul 6, 2013 at 6:07 AM UTC
Boxed in.
Silent animals.
Identical chairs and wooden squares.
Absolute silence, bar the inpatients.
The echoes of a deathly infirmary.
Sitting, occupying the time.
Waiting to die.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
Jailed with all the other squawking birds
confined, it never flew and barely grew
& never knew the mimicry of words
sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner
lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order
his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint
entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint
and his birds, perched across wooden dowels
proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels
onto sheets of unfinished poetry
correctivewhiteoutmisery
so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee
to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet
another relic in a mortuary of literacy
he was just another faceless, bearded bard
and with the old coffee grounds
he would discard
piling mounds of compost, broken bound
his compositions decomposing in the attic
warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts
searching for signals amongst the static
he awaited revision of his works
ill, amidst the scattered ruins
red ink, gold leaf & carets^
he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums
though, all public grievances were withdrawn
crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds
still oblivious to his defunct words
He lied dormant, comatose
in the 3rd degree infirmary
there was once a pretty lass
who could exhume the pristine
glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb
His malady, he once named Gamine
lived in a stretched-white canvas room
she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse
as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles
fluttered gently out of her empty purse
she grew on him like a cancer
for she was God's embellishment
pallid and perfect, and he cursed
her love as it ebbed and flowed
her aureole glowed, safely stowed
in an airship's overhead compartment
she was flying home for
there was no other answer
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Love lies on a razor
shoots through the clouds
as a lazor.
Please don't let me down, I look up.
Blink at the raining blossoms.
I convalesce in my self-made imaginary infirmary,
a red sphere floating firm above
a Japanese blotched black ink dove.
Blink up at the raining roses
Squint up at the blinking blossoms.
Love built the cross,
it also built the atom bomb.
Roses rain down in flurries.
Blossoms blink down in a hurry.
It would be sin for us to scurry,
even as the love spoken previous
beams down from heaven, is impossible
for us to bury.
If this is my truth, let it be conjoined, to become our truth.
And,
with outstretched skinny fists protruding out from the clouds above.
I watch as the Rose petals float fluttering down in a
flurry.
I blink up at the rolling, bowling, balling, beautiful blossoms....falling.
As the the is dawning.
As the sun is dawning
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
You are sick
suddenly,
it hit you
like an unexpected enemy
and that's what it is
enemy
I like that word
for describing such pain caused
Attacking you
against you
trying to take you out
Enemy
love thy enemy?
God, how can I?
How can you?
What a terror
what a horrific thing to allow
I scream
in pain
how my Dad must want to scream
but he can't
for the enemy has weakened him
he has taken many blows
infirmary
doctors
tests and more tests
answers?
cures?
none.
Why Enemy? What did he do to you?
Nothing!!
he was kind to his body
so why do you attack it so
Enemy I hate you
if hate could bury you
if it could rip you out of his body
and make you ... disappear
Then hate would **** you for sure
I have enough to eradicate your tiny growth of existence
Your tiny bits causing so much despair
Enemy, I beg of you, don't take him from me
God, fight for me, I am too weak
take over, heal, destroy this terrible little vial growth
God please, I beg on my hands and knees
I plead, don't take my Daddy from me
don't ruin my heart by taking away one of the first people to love me in this world
God please, you gave him to me as Dad,
to love me like you do.
And he did, and he does, and forever will
I need his voice, his hugs, his everlasting comforting presence,
GOD!!
i scream...
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 10:15 AM UTC
I made a beeline for the skyline
On the way I stepped on a land mine
So I was sent to the infirmary
Where I first met you
Everything you said confirming me
You told me I spoke truth
But it was a facade
To cover your flaws
They should make laws
To remove your claws
That you dig in with lies
Until your **** draws flies
You make pain linger
With a dislocated finger
Pressed against my lips
Muting me
While you aim from the hip
Shooting me
Once I was healed
Your tires peeled
Leaving me stranded
Staring at the horizon
You had expanded
To see it had a price on
I wait for you at a bus station
Called frustration
Outside people picket
My right to a ticket
Yet inside there are no busses at all
Only reasons to fall
I've given up on getting luck
I'm giving up on getting up
I start punching down on lonely crowds
And kicking them while they're down
I call them stupid ******* clowns
To give them a reciprocal frown
I saw you a year later
Driving a steel freighter
Happiness your cargo
On your way to Key Largo
While I sat marooned on an island
Comprised of hourglass sand
I felt frustration
You felt nothing
You're an invitation
To my suffering
You frustrate me
You must date me
Feb 14, 2018
Feb 14, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
The guy at the diner failed to mustard Jake's hot dog
As he was eating it he felt as cold as a marsh frog
Yucky was the flavor without condiment
Chomping it down, a tasteless torment
As the fries on his plate were doing the backstroke
Having a jolly swim day in a puddle of oil
Asked for industrial towels to wipe up the slick
Before it caught wind of the Environmentalists
A complaint has been filed about their bill of fare
Nothing served over the counter would we wish to share
Placards will be shown over the Diner's facade
Warning customers of this ecological disregard
They won't water down their words like the Diner their drinks
Before you enter in you'll stop and think
About the Blue Plate Special with Salmonella on the side
Do you prefer your Botulism broiled or would you like it fried
Gastronomic delights such as they will make you pay
A stint in the infirmary is sure to come your way
With a tossed salad of pain, relievers, and antibiotics
Which none of the above will be deliciously exotic
If you can take the cooks looks and stomach the smells
Along with the service that's slower than snails
There's normally a coupon in the daily mail
Buy one get one free!
Ahhhh.....what the hell
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Would you mind terribly if I painted our bedroom
the color of the sky the day we first met?
I still see it clearly in my head –
Crayola calls it “cesious” or “wild blue yonder”
but there is something missing from that, something more sad
given grey of an infirmary above for angels.
I want to savor that emotion, remember
that we can be one together and imperfect at the same time:
let us paint the bedroom like a hurricane sky –
I will have insomnia, yet love you in the morning.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 4:42 PM UTC
ten miles into the woods where the retort
would not be heard
he jumped off a bridge
where none had stood
he was where he went when it all got to be too
much, his refuge, infirmary
and I guess he saw
it all as too much
finally
but, he left two little ones wondering
was it their fault
and questioning doubts
the rest of their lives
I used to respect him and thought
about him as a gentleman
and how he represented an
upstanding family man,
I guess I was mistaken
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 10:40 PM UTC
Jailed with all the other squawking birds
confined, it never flew and barely grew
& never knew the mimicry of words
sanguine, foul molting cockatoo in the corner
lowered, bloodied, the lowliest in a pecking order
his owner's a loner, a collector of tinged newsprint
entombed in brick & mortar - nomad minus footprint
and his birds, perched across wooden dowels
proceeded to empty their millet'd bowels
onto sheets of unfinished poetry
correctivewhiteoutmisery
so, he, being miserly, wouldn't shell out the reader's fee
to the greedy posthumous publishing company, yet
another relic in a mortuary of literacy
he was just another faceless, bearded bard
and with the old coffee grounds
he would discard
piling mounds of compost, broken bound
his compositions decomposing in the attic
warbling hiss, winding tape spool. ghosts
searching for signals amongst the static
he awaited revision of his works
ill, amidst the scattered ruins
red ink, gold leaf & carets^
he, impetuous, slumped further into his doldrums
though, all public grievances were withdrawn
crass, he prattled on to his dolorous birds
still oblivious to his defunct words
He lied dormant, comatose
in the 3rd degree infirmary
there was once a pretty lass
who could exhume the pristine
glass contents of his tinsel'd tomb
His malady, he once named Gamine
lived in a stretched-white canvas room
she eyed his burnt pile of vile-dirge verse
as mayflys & junebugs, & smoggy dirigibles
fluttered gently out of her empty purse
she grew on him like a cancer
for she was God's embellishment
pallid and perfect, and he cursed
her love as it ebbed and flowed
her aureole glowed, safely stowed
in an airship's overhead compartment
she was flying home for
there was no other answer
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
People think that Brussels is an interesting city,
Full of beer, full of mussels and pommes frites
And easy to buy a really nice box of chocolates
(Personally I prefer the dark ******* as they are less sweet).
But there is another side to the city
Believe me, I know, I have been there
And I have seen it in all its shocking terror.
I was there, just off la Grand' Place (Grotemarkt in Flemish),
With my younger sister, a fat and ugly girl,
Who had a very pronounced lisp and a lot of oozing ****** spots,
When a gang of ill-dressed American youths,
Probably the sons of wealthy businessmen or diplomats,
Sky-high on coca-cola, or whatever vile filth,
Attacked us, mugged us, gave us a total bashing-up,
And we ran quite hard but could not escape from them.
And they left her lying there in the gutter,
Her legs broken to bits and her head half-chopped off,
And for what? They were envious of her false hairpiece
(as it made her look half-human, a major improvement).
She dragged out a miserable half-alive existence
For a few awful months in a dilapidated infirmary;
Dear God, she will not be going to Brussels again
In fact she will not be going anywhere at all,
Apart from into an early grave, that is.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
I've been to St. James' Infirmary
to hide away
where my suitor put a bullet through me.
These days I'm a ghost,
and haunting is a hindrance
to the acid-burnt hole in my
transparent tongue
that longs to be able to lick
the sharp side of a knife.
But I sit in St. James' Infirmary
because I'm sick to my stomach
and sick to my brain.
I'm not the hero of this story
because all I found was a darling
that I didn't wish to cherish.
The darlings will all go to New York or somewhere
to escape from being buried alive
in this cemetery I've been digging up
for as long as I can remember.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 3:37 AM UTC
A castle with millions of doors
And long corridors ghosted by
Thirsty alien creatures.
Each door led to horrifying monsters
with visages of stone and grime.
Some doors, red, titanic doors,
led home.
Time flowed out of sync.
I returned to an infirmary fiilled with my friends and family.
Few hours passed in my castle of terrors
yet years would fly by in the real world.
They aged
These visits
broke my heart…
Every door was a possible portal back,
I'd inch the door open slowly for fear of falling and losing my family.
I'd end up in the castle again.
Because a fair maiden lay in waiting.
How did I know?
I never saw her,
only a feeling.
This was just a dream,
just a torturous dream in which
I was torn away from my family
and drawn to a mysterious woman through a castle filled with
vile beasts
as I stayed
Immortal.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
Part of Edna's "Barry Hodges' Sad Recollections" Sequence
People think that Brussels is an interesting city,
Full of beer, full of mussels and pommes frites
And easy to buy a really nice box of chocolates
(Personally I prefer the dark ******* as they are less sweet).
But there is another side to the city
Believe me, I know, I have been there
And I have seen it in all its shocking terror.
I was there, just off la Grand' Place (Grotemarkt in Flemish),
With my younger sister, a fat and ugly girl,
Who had a very pronounced lisp and a lot of oozing ****** spots,
When a gang of ill-dressed American youths,
Probably the sons of wealthy businessmen or diplomats,
Sky-high on coca-cola, or whatever vile filth,
Attacked us, mugged us, gave us a total bashing-up,
And we ran quite hard but could not escape from them.
And they left her lying there in the gutter,
Her legs broken to bits and her head half-chopped off,
And for what? They were envious of her false hairpiece
(as it made her look half-human, a major improvement).
She dragged out a miserable half-alive existence
For a few awful months in a dilapidated infirmary;
Dear God, she will not be going to Brussels again
In fact she will not be going anywhere at all,
Apart from into an early grave, that is.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 7:18 AM UTC
We don't have time to live,to die or even give living a try,so what's it all about and why or what are we here for anyway?
In the year dot when God had a soft spot for Adam and Eve who didn't believe in anything at all and before Eve's fall from grace,there was a place to be in harmony and not some grotty dump like today where we pump our misery,carried away by tanker truck and no one seems to give a,
hard luck story's ten a penny.
Where are you Maud?
we came into the garden at three and now it's time for afternoon tea,has it come to pass that you'll be found in the long grass with some son of a gun?
'come into the parlour' said the fly,I don't know why because fly's don't talk and neither do I.
I walk through dormitories thinking long bed rows of stories and sleep in paper boats which float me on high seas,high teas,no Maud.
Which all amounts to diddly squat,slightly more than what I've got and what I've seen,
but I have been to London and I have seen the Queen who stole the tarts,while Jack was busy stealing young girls hearts,
and all my life is one cartoon,one dimension,oh but soon, there are inventive men who'll wrap me round a reel again and off I'll go.
A push and pull me,random figure on a top,spinning circles into carpets 'til I stop and pop goes one more weasel,
written on the board in chalk which in turn is stood upon the,Lord have mercy,save me from this nourishment,
Maud lent me her key,where is Maud? it's time for tea.
The men in coats come down for me,they're as nice as nice as nice men can be and work in the infirmary attached to the asylum.
I'll be back.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
I basked in the light
Of the present moments sight
But all of a sudden
Your words triggered a bitter memory
And now I want to visit an infirmary.
But oh wait this can’t be bandaged to heal
For it is a resurface from a wreckage.
It crawls from the breakage
With a clinging message
that causes landslides
and scrapes my insides.
My thoughts collide
as my emotions become tide.
My lips become sealed
As I no longer want to speak.
But then I’ll lose my mystique
And become invisible;
Vincible
In the hands of my shadowy past.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 6:54 AM UTC
For some it’s a teddy, a Hotwheel, a dumptruck,
But not Doug, instead he gave lashings and then ******
I knew not to holler lest Doug lose his focus,
Grasping my collar, he shrieked, “Hocus pocus!”
After Doug’s very first drink he’d soon have a hard on,
Then that sinister wink, I knew I was far gone.
Exhausted from ****** my nubile *** on the couch Doug laid
And then out he passed. I was no longer afraid.
The weekend ere last, after ******* Doug’s ****
He’d showed me his bolt cutters cut through a lock.
How many times had I undressed ol’ Doug?
His **** were like limes, his chest like a rug.
Sleeping upright, legs invitingly spread,
Soul black as the night, I began to see red.
O, but the sound! Like scissors through steak,
Doug writhed all around, eyes seeming to quake.
After rising, I followed the crimson trail,
As if suddenly hollowed, gravity prevailed.
Wrists sore as my *** mouth tasting metallic,
Bound like a lass, their faces utterly pallid.
Waddling down the hall, I was greeted with whistles,
“Give me a call!” Words coarser than bristles.
From the infirmary I write, and prone I must lay,
For Jerome likes ‘em white, as do Randy and Ray.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
The people are strange,
the culture is odd,
the people are diverse,
the culture is a facade.
Life isn't a museum,
a display for the holy,
life is an infirmary,
for the beaten down,
the lonely.
I find that I love them anyway,
their humor is wholesome,
their personas loving,
this is a necessary evil.
Who you are is a series of gestures,
successful or otherwise,
who you are is a collection of mementos,
who you are is loved,
the only thing worth being.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
Static Position, floating in space
Just an item, lost without a trace
I emptied my love into the pages
Floating here in my stasis
I offered my heard as a sacrifice
It was left decaying
By the black widow's bite
Drained of blood, dying in the web
Released to the infirmary's bed
And while the doctors perform open heart surgery
I'm left floating again in purgatory
Awake to the eyes of an entity
Pure and white, barely a human being
So much softer, so much brighter
Half human, half angel, hell of a fighter
The poison within fights for control
But her gentle warmth keeps it at bay
The harlot stands just outside the window
But guess what you cheating thief, I surived
Guarded now by the spider stomper
I can more easily now, thank you God
For sending me the cure for the Harlot's Bite
Written Nov 2nd, 2011. I was 18.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 8:01 PM UTC