IV stings
Bedpan smells
The lonely nausea
I know so well.
The dehydrated
Muscle cramps
Contorted hands
Under harsh lamps.
And the routine
Moments bygone
But come again
Before long.
A daily warfare
Waged within
Weakness to some
To others sin.
But they're blind
To the stench idiotic
Bags of saline
Piggyback antibiotic.
I long to end
But fix my heart
On single purpose
A violent art.
So, I hate them
With paranoid fear
I long for death
But not here.
Not here...
On sterile sheets
Rather among cold earth
Accept me.
In its kind embrace
Again to be dirt
Where flowers grow
Picked gently.
For some other's
Cold hospital room
To quickly wilt,
And die, anew.
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