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.