Stitches hospital stories
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emazzarose I love to write poetry and short stories
Autoplay OFF   •   4 years ago


by Emily R Mazza

Because hospitals are a place where injured people are fixed;

I am now “good as new”.

Eighteen stitches, screwdrivers and injured people--

“Good as new”.

Bleeding badly but after eighteen straight edge razor blades, emergency staff satisfied themselves with my sutured wounds.

Emotional shock prys at a body that is no longer my own,

Crowded with the damage done to my feet and arms that whisked my shadow away.

I am now alone.

But after eighteen hours spent in a hospital bed, my family still screams at the wounds left on my crimescene of a body.

I am now dying.

And my eighteen razors, stitches and hours of agony gnaws at the formalities whom comforted my family saying “she's good as new”

I am now the devil's dust,

how sad they left me alone.

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