Ghosts giving up on rolling gurneys

Play quite the sadistic melody

Wounds weep like the souls dying to live

I tread through the river

Of their linoleum tears and irrational fears

That is the house of ailment, of affliction.

Even as their pain surpasses mine,

And their circumstances reek of doom,

My temper dictates that

They don't deserve to weep as I do.

I hate my selfish eye rolls

That accompany this river's steady rise.

Because It's not until I reach the room of my father

That I reach the river's inescapable mouth,

And tumble into an unforgiving ocean.

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