Attempted descriptive writing collection

The hospice

Disclaimer: I think hospices are often good places and those who work there deserve recognition for the hard work they do. The workers I saw whilst visiting a loved one in the hospice were kind,caring and funny.
The stimulus I was given was write about a place that has had a long lasting affect on you.Hopefully this isn't too bad. :)

A golden sickly sweet Christmas tree stands tall in the main waiting area. The walls that are as white as porcelain surround me as if any minute they would bury me. My shoes scraped along the blue mattered carpet. My nose fills with the stench of dead skin and bleach. On the receptionist's desk, there is a fragile,crystal vase. Flowers that were once stunning blues and vibrant purples are now wilting brown and begging for water. The diminished petals appear sick, much like the patients in this hospice.

Fragile and haunting, a delicate chapel lives in the right corner, as if to welcome its next victim. Thick layers of dust compress on birth and love prayers yet death and sickness prayers lay ready and waiting. Immaculate stain glass windows bring in beautiful rays of light only to be blocked by a cross.

To my left, a corridor runs for what seems like forever. An area of hopelessness that repels joy is accompanied by suffocating guilt. The lights flicker as though a demon is dashing through out the halls with a bitter grin and claws of disease. Moans and groans can be heard but appear quiet compared to the cries of loved ones. There are cries of sadness, cries of love and cries of begging the diseased to stop fighting the pain.

Black, thick rimmed glasses reside on an empty hospital bed. The smudge on the lense and scratched bridge are all that remain. Families beg for the return of the owner despite them knowing the next time they meet the owner they will be in a black box.

The lightning kissed sky brings a heavy rain and a dismal, sombre ring of thunder. The skeletal trees are pushed from side to side, almost crushing the barbed wire fences. Fearful birds sit in fearful nests on those fearful trees. Dead, dire, disgusting bushes are crowding the feet of those sickening trees.

Dreadful handprints have marked the clear clinical door. A footmat the states 'welcome' has never been more rejected. Ignored handles that are blue like the murky sea are situated on the side of the door. A letterbox inside the starving hospice was the colour or warm blood spilt on fresh, crisp snow. The worn tattered seats place in a circle near the back of the walk crave new life. Never before has a place so dead had strength enough to fight a losing battle that will inevitably be lost.