Flashes of dingy corners,
Chipped paint, scuffed steel.
The buzz of a flickering florescent light.
Heavy white wooden door, half frosted glass.
Muffled breathing, machines bleeping and quiet weeping fills the air.
I wake alone, afraid.
Call for help, no one comes
Press my buzzer, still no one comes.
Tears fall down my gaunt face as I try
To climb out of bed to my feet
In sheer pain and agony; despair.
Attempt to walk to the door
Moving slow yet urgent until
I fall onto the blackness of the floor
The IV in my hand rips my skin as I try to stop my fall.
I lie on the floor in pain and anguish
And I wanted to die,
Right then and there,
I have never wanted it more.
Eventually they found me
Laying on the cold hard tile floor
Blood pumping from my hand,
No more tears, silent as death.
Carried me to bed, cleaned me up
Patched my wounds and left me again.
“All better”
And yet 17 years on I am there,
I feel the throb in my hand
The emptiness in my soul.
Feeling so utterly alone.
The pain the shame and the nothingness.
Oh god the nothingness.
