Saturday, December 4, 2010

Admitance to the East Wing

I want to get as far away from here as I can.
The curtains around each bed draw me in
Sucking secrets out of me
Their green is a hypnosis that denies all subterfuge
The fill in words to your little blanks come tripping out

I hear the squeaks of nurses shoes against the dull shinny linoleum
Hushed always hushed
When the talk about you two feet away
Scratching your identity in ink on a white form
You are known by a number or a name that in latin means something entirely different

The rippling of thinly controlled panic beaches its self hear
In, out, the ventilators breath.
This is a living room
And I am over exposed
My reds and whites smearing into you
A photograph someone left to long developing
This symptom of a genetic accident

They pity and do not pity you
Rolling you into rooms where the smell of downers
Washes over you in waves of sicking health.
Pills are given out to make all the patients float
Red balloon heads in a circle
Talking about why they're here
If they can sound the words out.
I can't escape the feeling of escape
I don't belong here

I'm not crazy.

Tripping switches, sparking wires, speaking to myself.

The doctor gives me a strange look and a piece of paper
That is supposed to enclose me back into a womb
white. safe. controlled.
The sheets breath with me in between them.
Stone under a rolling tide.
And then even the nurses will appear less and less
Til one day they tell you
You can leave
Cured of your affliction,
Pariah no more.
Oh god doctor oh, fear of life
you drink my wounds like love.

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