fourteen seconds to failure.

seven.

bright lights burn above,
sterile smells lurk the halls.
crinkled bed used by many,
rooms so small.

different people, same white coats,
so degrading,
making you feel like a joke.

window view of grey building,
tangle of tubes.
small, crowded bathroom,
constricting room.

stethoscope on your chest,
hearing each pain ridden breath.
they say you are fine,
you just need some rest.

bruised eyes,
bruised veins,
busy yourself in an attempt to stay sane.

decorations, from red to blue,
to make it feel more inviting
more like home,
but each ones a lie
a distraction at most.

no one here wants to help you,
it's an obvious fact
they just want the paycheck,
and you off their back.

——————————————————————————————————————

authors note: this poem is also featured in my other poetry book 'where tears may fall.' it was written there before i planned to write this book, but i thought it would fit in here nicely as well. i uploaded an extra poem this week since i knew some have seen this one before.

   thanks for reading,
   -gabriella