Sterile white, a tomb of cold embrace,
The PET machine hums, a watchful space.
Gauze-thin gown, a whisper on my skin,
Vulnerability etched, lets fear creep in.
Striped pyjamas, loose and pale they fall,
There is a jarring contrast in this sterile hall.
No comfort's touch, but memory's sting,
Of countless souls, where suffering did cling.
Bruno's whispers paint a tragic scene,
A boy...
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