A bed with wheels
A bed with wheels  poems stories
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emilys
emilys Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Helplessness

A bed with wheels

The smell hits me first

Air is not supposed to smell like this

Clean

Clean, but almost too clean

Clinical

It startles me and I jolt forward

Pain rises from the skin on my arm

Looking down I realize I’m tethered

The clear tubing snaking down my hand and up my arm

Death’s gentle caress

That’s what flows through these tubes anyway

They never really tell you that

But you learn the truth after a while

In my unconscious state I hadn’t realized I’d been moved

I think that’s what bothers me most of all

Not the smell, or the constant visitations

The bed

It could never pass for a real bed, it’s far too small

The sheets do not beckon: come, stay a while, relax

They itch from being washed countless times

Beds are not meant for transportation

Though in this place it seems to be their vehicle of choice

Click, the guardrails, to keep us encaged

Roll back, then push forward, reducing us to mere goods

Carted this way and that

Their purpose:

Keep the goods from spoiling

Sometimes it works,

Sometimes it doesn’t

In what world are beds meant to have wheels?

Do they think they’re doing us a favor?

‘You are too weak, let us help’

No,

thank you

I’d much rather crawl

Than be shuffled around

Conversations taking place above me,

About me

As if I’m not even there

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