leicester royal

walls of white and grave grey faces,
shouts of pain bounce down the halls.
the stink of clean the senses appalls,
in the most contradictory of places.
names are called and sufferers run to claim,
that ailment, that sickness – that is mine.
they beg for comfort, help, beg for time.
but on the screen they are none but a name.
for some the wait is painless, brief.
for others a brand new condition
their list finds a new addition
that may not end in sweet relief.
our health is money now, old friend –
stay clear, and if you can’t, pretend.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s