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I don't know what to believe, I don't know what's happening to me. I'm stuck in a void of past and future here. The present's overrated, maybe it's supposed to be that way.
The cold air flooded lungs of the sick, the smell of sanitation and cleanliness was found amongst the stench of the ill, No one was happy to be found here The room was dimly lit by grimy windows
I thought you were doing fine, I didn’t know what was wrong, I thought you'd push through it, that you were invincibly strong, As a friend I should have supported you, helped you along the way,
They said she would stay, that she wouldn't feel a thing, it would be quiet and still, our goodbye's wouldn't matter because she'd never know, that they were said,
Her sister is 15 minutes away and she only sees her once a week She walks over to her in the mental hospital Temporary home that smells like bad food
Remember when you broke your right hip? It came as a shock to me. There you were, the picture of health, And only eighty three. Of course, you were most disgruntled.
While I was in the intensive care unit I wrote this in the style of dr. Seuss .. I love him! For three weeks or more I've been writhing in pain... Went to my doctor To be checked .. with no gain.
I hear myself say it too often. I probably just fucked up again. Maybe you broke me, again. Perhaps it's my astonishment, quite possible since I'm great. Until you tell me I'm not.
Early dawn in the bed when you cried out for your mother And you choked on your tears as they rolled you down the stairs They said by god’s grace but it was really just a stretcher and sirens
I woke up one morning,And I forgot I was dead.The clock on the wall insisted it was midday,The sun coming through the window seemed to agree.The date on the calendar insisted today was real,
Before, She laid in a hospital bed Now, she makes sure the dogs are fed. Before, She was surrounded by nurses. Now, she collects designer purses. Her family used to hope and try
Six hospital visits: One for my baby cousin, Two for my sister’s knee, Three for my faulty lungs. Two writing competitions: One that I won,
Dressed in scrubs, with overworked, tender feet. Promenading and scurrying through the long hallways ahead of me. The anxious and hope that abundantly builds up inside, not
Children of God in the youth psych ward walking like the dead lights in the windows too high to reach black pits in your stomach where you swear your Soul used to be
Explosion. Nuclear warfare ignites the city; the meltdown happens far too soon to process. My eyes flicker open to hospital lights - white sanctuary walls
The intern reminds me to sanitize,so I stick my hand under the machine, and foamdrips out. Fingers meet palms, then part.The ethanol slaughters strains of bacteria,which will reclaim my hands in a few minutes more.
Day 1 I was afraid to have to repeat it again in the hospital because I'd rather be dead I have been there before, baggy scrubs and socks Stomach in knots, my poisoned liver still rots
There is yellow caution tape around my wrist. It is the only thing that stands out in this pristine white bathroom that feels more like
My mother is special. That’s what they say When they drag me away From that shiny white room And I ask if I may
I've seen my mother cry twice-once when my dog died, and once when I tried to.
80 proof poured down his throat. A captain on the bottle… Demon water in his body Perception muddled Judgment kaput Steps turned to stumbles. Three in the morning
A place of life, and a place of death. A whisper in your ear, feel their breath. They’re gone from the white walls and hard bed. Faded into nothing, they’re dead.
I loved days like these.
As a freshman, awesome meant passing a test without studying. As a sophomore, awesome meant getting invited to an upperclassmen party. As a junior, awesome meant getting a promposal with the football captain.
The hospital is where I was supposed to get better where I was supposed to shed my failure for strength where I was supposed to become free the hospital with all its well lit rooms and halls
My body ached and that caused me to whimper The sound of my heart beat on the monitor scared me The IV's burned my skin I tried to speak but my voice was numb and my throat was dry
I don't quite remember the whole visit; was it even all real? I was too high on narcotics, too tired from lack of sleep, and in too much pain to care.
“somewhere, there is a museum of unfinished surgeries.” – Dylan GarityI. the man who runs this place wears blue Nikes.he keeps them clean for the most part, aside
maybe if we enjoyed the lullaby of empty dial tones, we would fall asleep somewhere amidst the clatter of unanswered phone calls. there is a melancholy to be found in silence.
people will never recognized a simple girl. who is like other girls, simple as a paper flower. who really is nothing compare to the real flowers. whose color and petals are different from others.
When you're a child
Death is getting a call at seven in the morning asking you to
When a function on your body isn't working
I refuse to really be, the girl that laid in the hospital bed, She was so helpless. She was so lonely. She was praying not to die at seventeen, She was so brave. Because the hospital beds were home back then
You said to me, "I am Lost" So I etched the constellations in every freckled part of my skin, so you would always know where you came from when you traced your fingers across my hips.
They aren't just scars They are demons I fought at 00:00 They are my insecurities My deepest fear And my lonely nights They are my insults I have recieved and the Emotion I can't contain
I hope you're comfy,
And outside, life Is cold. The trees are as bare as my bones are hollow, and through the chains over my window I can see the world outside- Moving. It's all still moving, without me.
She's been through so much,
I never said it. I never say it. But it was a silent prayer in the air today as I watched her. The skin just below her knees torn open and scabbing. Her face, bruising.
CAUGHT GLIMPSE: Claire
I grew up in America. I grew up in England. I grew up in a Massachusettes hospital. I fell in love with Romance At a young age. Didn't see it much Growing up,
Steady beeping. White walls. Disinfectant. Beeping. Two people. One in a chair. One in a bed. Beeping. Tears. Wires. Machines.
Head held high I walk through the halls, I am who I am. Tired but proud, in this place I am small, I am who I am. Monitors beep while sick children sleep, I listen carefully.
Eyes cast toward the windowUnseeingPretending to gaze outward, downwardAt patchwork buildings and trafficUnheard through hospital wallsYet you remember the soundLike the blood rushing through your ears
Your soft tiny hands, Your soft tiny feet, Your cute baby face, No one can ever compete. Those cute tears that rolls down
In fifth gradeI ate rotten meatbecause a ten year oldcannot hate themselves. In sixth grademy dad left for the sixthand the final timeand I started blacking outfrom trying to hunt him down
I think of endless days and short nights I think of powerful blades and deep slashes I think of everything and nothing but all that comes out is air and I don't know how or why but I thought of you
For a Struggle has no Value, should it teach nothing. In the Beginning, all was normal. All was at peace. All was changed, when i was no longer myself. Men of healing bore Harrowing news.
Watching from my window seeing all the people People dying and crying from my hospital window Tears dripping like waterfalls from the eyes of others With beeping in the distance so loud of a sound
Lying on a bed Surrounded by white walls, I feel the physical throbbing, Which makes me go insane. Bright lights and bustling people, Pain and pills, IVs and insomnia.
We cannot know what pain feels like Though evidence suggest it is unpleasant We cannot know who they were before Though evidence suggest they are now sick We cannot know who their loved ones are
His muscular shoulders were hunched over, head bowed, and hands tightly clasped together.
The sun went down, but I'm still here. There's still a tube inside me. My dinner tray is in the sink. The whiteboard says my name. The thermostat reads "55"-- that's something
Each morning, the white sun rises over Jasper Street. It peeks over the maple trees, it hides from cloud to cloud,
A musty door slides sharply to the left Each hanger, carrying its worn material seems to clear a path And residing there with its own sense of belonging is the box of theft
He aimlessly cries for a place call home as everyone keeps telling him “soon” Reaches out with fragile arms Into an empty space of an eggshell white Only to be told “don’t do it”
Someone please call 911 I think my heart is beating abnormally. My lungs feel like (gasp, gasp) oxygen is taking the final exodus out. All I want to do is BREATH can anyone (gasp) help me??
To have your health is to feel that relief. A heartbreaking pride to not be the one in the quiet room, separating their M&Ms. Their MAOI's, SSRI's, antipsychotics. Nap time, snack time. Institutional itinerary of the insane.
Large boulders of smoke roll down your throat and coat your breath with the smell of false happiness. Yellow stained fingers cover a frequent cough. You sound more and more like your dog as the days pass.