At The Hospital
one feels like
he is dead in a catacomb
he likes it
slow paced life
and everyone
attends to you
like you're the most
helpless
body, sprawled without
the strength of bones
one feels like he is wasted
useless piece
of flesh all wrapped
with dry skin
sometimes
he wishes he is not cured
and simply be
buried in that
catacomb
forever
in this society
however
no one gives
you
your free meal
no one hands
you
a happy death
they always
feel that you will
be leaving them
all the
possible guilt
afraid
they all ask you
to get well soon
so they
may also start
taking care
of their lives
the soonest
you turn on
the tv to watch
news tonight
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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