entrance through Bixel Street

time does not exist

walls beige frames colorless

scent not sweet stale

conditioned to 74 degrees

bed metal electric cold

fitted with buttons gauges

noise white with warnings

bleeps bings some hisses

faded aqua marine curtain

surrounds me wrists tied

down the hall polite

whispers then a wail

exploding through antiseptic hall

like Fourth of July

ceiling bland dusty vents

TV monitor spills lies

no music exists here

in and out they

come one after the

conversation bobs up and

down indecision open wide

my eyes now it

begins to lift the

fog how did i

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