I went to the hospital today.
Defeated in my protest,
dragged ragged sandals hidden under threadbare denim seams
over the ash and gravel littered parking lot,
hoping the errouneously placed tiles in the greeting room would give
and swallow me whole.
Containing my unbashed scorn;
secretlty hoping you would succomb to the wounds
so we all could suffer just as quickly.
I am angry still.
I want my father back.
I am enfatuated by listless eyes
pandering in the elevator; the smell of
surgical latex breeding with noxious fumes,
encouraging me to leave all emotion
sedated at the door.
Too many have left their salt here,
I am the oldest. I am the wisest.
Yet here I am not among the brave.
My hands clenching in and out reaching for some hope of
fixing what I cannot even remember;
trying to say hello but feeling as if the tracheotomy
sensored my words.
My worst fears confirmed;
that I am weak,
and you are mortal.
I suppose that is what happens
when a sense of heed is not taken,
and an interstate road is hungry
for the flesh of man, consuming all in its wake
but leaving one to spill carcass,
a validation of my lucid dreams
ubruptly ending in minutes, continuining
for the last thirty nights.
how we both feel, but incapable of expression.
Leaving the hospital,
causing a quiet scene.
Mom says, "You're so cold, you don't care. Incapable of emotion."
I am raw with emotion.
When he is well,
when he is well,
redundancy dancing in the peripherals of my mind,
when you are well.