Children who shriek

The hospital machine beeps, My knees weak, the walls are bleak. I'm bitting my cheek whilst the ward doors creak I can hear the children shriek, they look weak through a sneak peak. Explanations are oblique, These children will be me in a week. There's critique of technique for hell week; which is not for the weak. Streaks of blood, dizzy from drugs Staring at the paintings of ladybugs Trying to sleep with ear plugs I want to smash a mug, the frustration builds inside, stuck in bed Feeling like led, can't even eat bread, knee held together with thread, throbbing red, Feeling half dead. I suddenly woke up in bed with dread for next week when I become, the children who shriek.