It’s bright
White socks
White gowns
White sheets
I hate hospitals.
I can smell the depression –
The unique, intimate mix of dread and death,
Masking any hope that might remain.
It’s blinding
White floors
White walls
White, lifeless faces
I hate this place.
A wave of bleach infiltrates my lungs,
Staining my breath.
A gurney goes by.
No movement.
It’s silent
Red pens
Red rashes
Red, exhausted nurses
Everything is sectioned off,
Each patient fitting into a tiny room,
A check in a box on a paper in a folder.
Was that a scream?
It’s cold
Red stains
Red stamps
Red puddles on the floor
The aroma of copper blends with the bleach,
Making me gag.
The gurney comes back,
Empty.
I want to leave.
I really hate hospitals.