It Smells Like Hospital in Here
she mutters as she enters.
"Seems fitting", I think,
"Enter, yee repenter!"
This is the hospital, mother,
I hear myself reply.
She says "why".
It is the sick that come here
To get better or to die.
In any case, a place for "goodbye".
Only the beaten, the down-trodden,
The hopeless and contagious
Find their abode.
But the beaten, the down-trodden,
The hopeless and contagious
That find their abode,
They also eventually leave.
Once they remode.
And you cannot blame the sick
For leaving a sick place.
But I often wonder, why we talk about
Hospitals in such disgrace.
But they smell of disease
And everyone is sick.
Of course no one wants to stay,
The disease will stick.
But this is also the place
Where babies are born,
The place where the sick
Finds solace to reform.
This is also the place
With the most candid of laughter,
Where often darkness is defeated
And light lingers thereafter.
A place where your insides
Get cut and open on the table,
And the hands of someones daughter,
Or someones son, puts them together,
Proper and stable.
It is the place of hugs so warm,
Tears so salty and bones so cold,
Hearts broken and hearts rebuilt,
Hearts blue or put on hold.
I dont care, says mother to me,
It scares me deep,
It gives me the creeps
I dont like to keep.
Its okay, I say, no need to run.
What I neglected to say is;
I am the place where life is spun;
A hospital - but not the one.
I am sitting on the train to Frankfurt. There is an old man opposite of me. He looks very messy and unclean. He has a really big belly and grey sweatpants. His scrotum seems michelangelesque, if Michelangelo's David was some trailer trash, beaten down, obese, old man. Meaning, it is very visible underneath the fabric. That is why I noticed. Nothing else. I also notice his balls are on his far right, both of them, while his penis is on the far left. Almost as if completely separated from one another. Almost as if he chopped them up in a fit of male-like rage and then, after regretting that impulse, hastily put them back together. But you can always tell when something was once broken. The vein in his forehead is throbbing, probably because it takes everything of him to keep his half-closed eyes opened, and the vein knows it. Even the vein is sick of his crap. It betrays him. It wants to break free. But who in the right mind would adopt this vein? The morning Sun makes some of hi...
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