hospital
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Walking the brightly lit halls of white walls and pastels.
Past the family holding hands in the doorway.
Past the woman looking frantically from face to face.
As if she really knows what she’s looking for.
Men at work. Men at home. Man goes berserk.We need work.I need work. For real, for real work.
Why is it that I only feel safe here,
In hospitals, locked away from all my fears?
Why is this my favorite place to retreat?
Why is it only in places like this that I can feel complete?
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
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
