t h e s o f t b u z z i n g o f a f l y e c h o e s i n y o u r e a r .. .
It snags your attention, and you turn your head briefly
The daftly painted pastel walls, you’ve been told, are meant to calm your nerves,
But as you sit in the man-made pseudo-serenity,
You can hear the “peaceful” walls turn into obscure hindrances,
Throwing every insult possible at you
A couple seated several chairs down from you converses clandestinely
You close your eyes as the wind carries their voices
Down the aisles towards you,
And you hear their every conundrum
Not wanting to procure prompt visions of
A familiar, staggeringly failing lifestyle you had so lovingly forgotten
And supposedly left in your past,
You try to shut them out and lock the door
The smell of your cheap perfume temporarily satisfies
The neurotic sentiment burning your insides
Right about now you’re itching for a cigarette,
Anything to take your mind off of this place and these people
In your mind, you reminisce about good times,
But your self-repulsion interrupts the joyous nostalgia,
And like a filthy whore,
Shame opens its lewd legs for you
And coaxes you with a desperate, erotic moan
Your eyelids flicker open to the boring, hopeless world around you
Anxiety, you're scared
You begin to get up,
Past the couple,
Past the receptionist,
Out of the hospital,
Oblivious to the calls of the confused nurses
Calling attention to your wounded hand,
Bloody, broken, beaten, unwilling
But you don't turn around
You don't come back
You run,
Run,
Run,
You run in your disgust
And your self-loathe
You run,
Until the hospital
Becomes one with the horizon
(3).JPG)
Comments (0)
Post a Comment