There have been no visits.

Life is overtaking people,

while I’m holed up here.

The constant round of taking blood

pressure, consultations with my shrink,

is wearing me down. I would say

I’ve now recuperated, although

the world seems a little shaky,

dry as dust. I’ve befriended a girl

with terrible scars across her wrists.

We talk, big things. If they ever

release me I shall liberate

my friend too. The hours drag

interminably and they’re painting

the dayroom, which is off bounds.

I wish my brother would come.

The nurses know nothing,

it is time for evening meds.

I feel desolate. The fog will come.

Nothing happens here.


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