Hospital Cookies

We tend to find ourselves

In bloodlines, altered quantities

As flesh-stained headaches,

Coursing through liquid bridges

Like platonic stalkers, love equating to anger

Macabre trees so tall and dense they cause palms to turn violent hues of red

and stomachs to give in: subtle, careful, quick.

Spearmint gowns and brightly-lit halls

Arms pale, lips rust, pronouncing in costume

as if not in this reality but another;

Their ignorance does not go unnoticed to negative emotion,

to our wailing cries.

Something is screaming their name, begging them to stay

in these chambers of dust and dark and death.

Of scribbled out letters and stale cookies -- of a nothing-filled life -- reckoning them out of

their soft beds and peaceful caverns and into these soul-draining, harshly-lit, 

alarmingly symmetrical hallways.

They walk through a constant liquid,

Just like us