At The ER

by Samuel De Lemos

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I enter through
The plate glass doors
It’s a place
I know, too well.
3 o’clock in the morning,
and
my body is racked with pain.

Pain and discomfort
are the only forces
that know
how to
open those
familiar doors.

From 1 to 10?
my angst
is quietly disclosed.

The wincing silence
truly narrates my
cries;

It’s the eyes that
tell you
what the scale
really says.

Nurses and orderlies,
they don’t know how to
read outside of the
narrative they’re
given.

Words?
Words,
can’t always tell
what we’re really
feeling…

All around the lobby
it’s full of
dreadful stares.

All of us waiting
for the opportunity
to leave.

To go home to
the comfort of
our beds.

Medicated once
again.

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