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.
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