slowly you're taking over.
invading what i love,
what i had loved,
what i desire.
slowly, you're moving in.
moving into my territory,
taking over, being
imperialistic.
slowly, you take my patience.
I try to take control of my anger,
But you test me,
slowly; step by step.
slowly, you kill me.
with every little move,
every little tiny insignificant
piece which leads to your victory.
slowly;
check mate.
lying here, it's dark.
only the phone light and the lights of the machines brighten up the dark room.
the rooms walls are painted white and there's a t.v. in the corner.
the curtain is pulled on the other side of the room, they're asleep now.
I should probably sleep too, but i don't feel like it.
the floor is baby blue-ish and the lady was nice.
I feel nauseas though I haven't eaten anything yet.
I can see someone standing at the end of my bed and its creepy.
The only lights are dim and cannot help my phobia of the darkness.
Connected to the machines.
Needles hurt.
Can't see my legs, or toes, and feel like puking; there's a tray next to me just in case.
Can't get up, even if I have to pee.
It sucks here and I can't believe I'm back already.
Connected to the machine again.
The machine that determines life or death.
Men in white pass by and by and I can hear people.
Too many people.
More people than I'm supposed to.
They're not really here.
Yet, I hear them.
It's scary now.
I feel afraid of what's to come.
No texts have arrived, they don't care.
If I would've said something sooner maybe I wouldn't be here.
In this hell, connected to my lifeline.
Connected to the machine.
