The Patient
A Sestina
The scent of the room was sweet and sick
Time flew by, spun in circles and landed in my hands
My veins pulsed with liquid energy
She came to see me once or twice, in a dream
“Best wishes to you and yours”
Her smile was loud, reverberated throughout me
Ripping out the pages of books, words crawled over me
Let us help you, are you sick?
So are we. Our dosage is much like yours
Fists clenched, room as dirty as my hands
I longed to sleep, longed to dream
Sat for years and watched life come and go without energy
The ebb and flow of energy
Did not take long to infiltrate me
Can the others tell reality from a dream?
I ask around the hall, fluorescent lights shining on my frail face, showing I am sick
Once a woman tightly holds my hands
She says, “Once my skin was as clean as yours,”
Anger is an IV stuck in my arm; my emotions are no different from yours
I walk away, finally gaining the courage and energy
Thoroughly wipe my hands
Her ragged voice is all over me
She is nothing but old, nothing but sick
I push her into the deep end of my brain, stay out of my dreams
Oh, but I dream and dream and dream
She tells me, “My hair was once soft like yours,”
The words are following me, they are the reason I am sick
And they love the taste of my energy
Drink it all, leaving holes within me
I reach up to the sky, clouds kissing my hands
The sick and outcast ones search for a key to unlock my tight hands
The nurse sings to me, she is a gift-wrapped dream
Empty beings say hello, that they’ve come to visit me
They politely claim “Best wishes to you and yours,”
They think flowers will grant me living energy
They are just as sick
Just as sick as the rest of us, just like me
My hands clamp together with one more dream
I find myself calling out to false gods like yours, just to steal their energy
Soporific A 