Hospital Collection: NamelessThere's an anorexic patient with mein the mental health ward.I've never heard her speakor touch her lipsto the plastic hospital food.Her skull is wrapped inthe alien fingers of a pale feeding tube.And I wonder if she's stillthe keeper of her soul.Her wrists are as frail asthe silver threadsof delicate spider webs.Her skin is fragile and paper-soft.I've never heard her speakor touch her lips.She's just another patient(without a name).Her eyes are lifeless,lost.And I wonder what that makes me;another patient who sees onlyher disease.
Touching The FloorWords are power, she said.Dont ever let them take it from you.Grief is your sanity, she said.Dont be afraidTo let your tears fall.Silence is reality, she said.Dont ever let them touch the quiet in you.Safety is a dream, she said.Dont wake upKeep going back to sleep.
1000 Paper CranesI.We whispered prayers into the corridorswhile I spoke into your ribcage,telling lies to our skeletonsto help you understand.you said they lovedwatching me wax poeticwhile I dripped candlelight into your hands.we watched the dust motescover our skinwhile I taught you how to fly.(you were always too afraid to falland too afraid to land).II.It wasn't lovesongs we sang;it was half-forgotten hymns.we never wanted to believebut you said ghosts existwithout compassion,and without sins.I told the doctorhis medication clipped your wings.III.I fed you sweet wordstucked in betweencandy-canesand licori
InstantUnder the suffocating lights of the dance floorand the overwhelming heat,another stranger asks me for a dance.He whispers his name in my hairbut I don't have aname.and I don't want to know.Sometimes medicationdisconnects emotionand you lose your soul.and I don't know how I feel.I feel -nothing....His hands are on my hipsand he's too closelips pressed against my cheek.He touches my hair,my face.Tells me that I'm beautiful.Runs gentle fingernailsover my backand tries to speak.I'm spacedout.Something turneda light off inmy head.He kisses my hands,my headand I can't react.Everything fe
Epinephrine WhisperI bleed fear and breathe paralysisEvery daydrug myself into sanityand drip with the rainevery drop a thoughtfalling out of my souland tripping out of my brain.I crawl screaming and sobbingto the phoneand listen for hours tothe white noise of the static dial tone.My fingers shakeas I calla helplinethe crisis hotlineemergencysuicide preventionchild youth mental health team.The receptionist is new.she doesn't knowmy voice.she doesn't knowmy face.she doesn't knowmy name.I don't have a nameI don't have a face.My therapist isn't here today."Sorry. Would you like to leave amessage?"
TransientIm seducing you with sorrowTaking you downInto the deep nothingOf a hollow soulListening for the despair ofEmpty heart beatsAs they fall quietlyInto the rhythm of decay.Seeping through your Sun-stroked skinIm drowning you with sicknessThat you long to follow deeperLeading you into a placeWhere tears penetrate the sweetest sleepAnd gentle handsAre twisted leaves Against your bodys formI can take you further, hereDown into a worldWith just the promise of better daysAnd laughter void of illness.Solemn swears of tasteless dreamsThat youll be wishing to believeOnce youve f
SalvationsI woke with a barcode tattooed into my wrist, over a scar.nurses conspired in soft tonestracing the sound of schizophrenia into an injection needleto hush the patient in the bed next to mine.N4877294.their voices echo in my bones.I stopped breathing in your handsand you lifted me likea drop of snow, to drink.whispering intraveneously into my lungsI breathe lightand swallow myself whole.black holes moved under your skin,and your limbs felt soft, diseased.N487723.hours passedand we prayed for release.we searched for wings in the corners of wardsbreathing prayers into our hands,pressing them between the out
Hospital MorningI'm woken for medicationI swallow them down,and listen for the soundof the grey trolley wheelssqueaking across the cold linoleum.A small cup of fruit juiceand a white bread rollare the only things that don'ttaste like antiseptic or anaesthetic.I ignore the cardboard cerealit its little boxthe canned fruitand plastic food.Every morning I take medication,fruit juice,and a little bread rollto start the day.
First NightRosie lay across from me in the cold, dark ward. She was agoraphobic; and when she laughed, her hands fluttered and she tapped her feet against the floor.It was late when they carried me in. I had no name; just a plastic bracelet with a barcode and my patient number, address and date of birth. N447584. But the doctor and nurses just called me the O.D girl.She smiled at me as they attached wires and a heart monitor; as they dressed me in a white hospital gown with the ties undone, leaving my spine naked and exposed.Somehow I cant find the strength to tie it up, though Im afraid of the strangers hands on me.
HannahThey hold her downand force sedation with a drink."Swallow" is their mantra,a hollow injection while she screamsa black touch a dropher bloodwhile the nurses cluck their tonguesand take her away.
ThereisnosleepinnothingnessI don't want to touch myself with my handsfor fear of swallowing myself into the nothingnessthat exists beneath the the patterned linesand empty hollows of my skin.I inhale, and smell like gravityand the sweet echoes of sickened flesh.Light fades, and the shadows stand, wholeover my body in the empty room.Then, between the pressures of my mindthere was only silence.A stillness in the absence of alien thoughts.I'd wake in the middle of the nightor in the early hours of morningstaring into the mirrorinto the blackness. the empty space where my face must be,breathing in the darkwhere time was tangibleand I was
IanDrops of bloodthe soft fallHushas they mark his skinan inky black.When he smiles,the jagged lips of his throat smile gospel secrets toothat only the half-living and the dead know.
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