The Hospital

The lights are dim in a small room.
In bed, comfort comes at no angle.
Restricted, you are tied down by lines of fluid.
You struggle to move or rise.
You are cold, but the chemicals burn.
Waiting, you are worried.
Questions are not answered.
In intervals, the poppy eases the pain.
Rest, you forget while in a deep sleep.
Flowers and other delightful things surround you.
Beside you, she is tired but stays.
Her touch is medicine.
You are loved.
You heal.

~ by Efren BuenRostro Jr.


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