A year of in-betweens
in a vibrant life
now resembling an ER waiting room—
people-packed in varying states of anguish.
Those wheelchair-bound, abandoned in halls,
those bedridden, speaking in groans
and the many—
sitting, standing seemingly unfazed,
but to an extent all commonly feeling pain,
a need for a doctor we don’t see,
a need for the aches to be eased,
but malnourished on stretchers—
Our only medics.
Beeps, screams.
Whines, cries.
Rushing feet,
panicked eyes
and another flatline
to collectively ring in every ear.
Heave—
heave—
heave—
Wait—and breathe,
wait—and breathe.
I squeeze the sweat-soaked sheets,
as my soul strains through me by the second,
deflating my being like a liferaft with a leak,
leaving me stagnant in a drowning situation calling for patience.
Patience, while feeling a cast iron rod pierce through my heart,
clog my throat,
prod my brain.
Patience, while plowing through another day
by the grace of a caffeine-powered body.
By the mercy of a mind hoping tomorrow
might rebirth a fallen yesteryear
to remind me—
I’m of worth.
At last, doctor calls my name,
fires questions out the mouth like a Mossberg 500
and rushes away for another four months,
leaving more holes in a leaking plot needing to be filled.
No surgery nor novocaine
just more stagnance in a room
where spinning ceiling fans are the only movement seen—
the sole motion
spreading around everyone’s disease.
Am I far off somewhere?
Daydreaming in a car stuck in a roundabout,
having a bad trip in a brighter year,
or am I really trapped in an unending day?
An ER kept alive by insomnia
and a newly discovered inability
to walk through chaotic hallways—
’cause never failing to freeze
are two legs
locking me
between entrance and exit—
stranding me
in a smothering embrace.