on hospitals and falling in love
you’ve got a hard time
waking up to the knock on your door,
the invasive voice calling, “vitals,”
as you remember where you are,
what you’ve done,
and forget
how you got here.
temperature: 97.8, normal enough,
you are cold.
blood pressure: 100/60,
you are too relaxed and still
full of sleep.
mental state: steadily declining,
you are dragging your nails
across the same two walls.
they call your name,
you take the pills
like a good patient,
and you sit to wait
for me to shuffle out,
half-asleep, grinning,
floating along the hallway,
unaware of my allure.
good pet, you have stayed
for me. I’ll reward you with conversation
and a cigarette, I’ll make you swear
to wait each morning, to wait
through art therapy
group therapy
one-on-one therapy,
I’ll give you more therapy,
talk in circles, give you something
to cling to.
good pet, they locked you
in this cage, you threw off
your circadian rhythm (wake,
sleep, wake, sleep),
you wanted your balance
thrown wildly off course,
you wanted the sun
to scorch your skin
in your sleep, you wanted the moon
to electrocute you, you wanted me
to unlock the door.
good pet, they’ll let you out,
you will spin under the golden lights
in a daze, you’ll forget the way
my voice sounds, you’ll remember
how I saved you, and I
won’t be bothered with awakening you
when your cries pierce the sanctity
of my red moon night. you’ll cut me
from your memory, I’ll lace you around
my wrist, you’ll smother me with smoke,
I’ll fold you away with my maps-
deny reality
until you collapse.
