Being Sick



 When life makes you pained and desperate 

Did you drown in sickness and went to hospital? 
Where there are pristine walls smelling of bleach
Reminding of still winter than lively summer
And to those who are burning inside & out
There is nothing better than this chilling peace. 
But when you thought you were incurable, broken beyond repair, 
Who was the doctor that held your hand in hope? 
Who was the one that pulled you to live? 
And gradually you relied on that only smile. 
Dear white coat medic, I am chained by my disability, 
I am dying, I swear I am not lieing. 
It becomes harder to live by another day, 
Please end this futile battle when there is no other way. 

Comments

  1. a.fighter.in.prisonMay 28, 2023 at 1:50 PM

    Hello readers, my this poem is about the falls in life and how we are wounded but still survive through it. Not all get to live beyond physically but what happened only the person in question can tell. Who was your doctor in life? Read and remember.

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