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T.R.E.A.T.S. #15 – Hospital Architect

 

Isaac Jenkins lives within the realm of nothing personal

Drawn for him by hands which saw their own writing and their own

Walls stretching past corners where they touch, forming crosses that

Serve as a distinct dogmatic crutch for a hospital architect.

 

Why do we hurt when there is no wound,

Enter and leave life through the same room?

And who should we choose to burden with thoughts?

 

The architect’s beautiful design goes unnoticed by

Concerned relatives who rush inside rubbing faces, while

Patients who need viewed beauty the most are forced to choose between

Watching wallpaper or daytime soaps as alternatives to clock faces.

 

Why do we hurt when there is no wound,

Enter and leave life through the same room?

And who should we choose to burden with thoughts,

Since everyone here looks so damn distraught?

 

The doctor won’t refrain from taking his own title in vain

To rectify the pain of patients imploring to be saved

From a penned and needled fate.

 

And I wished that I had fucking cancer, just to tell you that

I loved you in a hospital room sketched by someone who

Fell out of love a long, long time ago.

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