perfectly polished automatic doors push open as me and my driver trudge through the entrance.
Spring Mountain Treatment Centre:
here's where I'll be spending the next few weeks.
everything was so dark- so dull. this hospital seemed as lifeless as i; the way the dark colours seemed to sit so still- so still.
i remember how my driver would look at me, ask me why a pretty girl such as i would want to die; as though complimenting me would drag me away from my deep blue.
even the nurses here seemed empty- their eyes carried the same life this room did. Dull. Dark.
a woman with red hair guides me to a small room and questions why i want to die; i can't hear her by now- it's as though her words part before they hit my ears- the sound waves separate before i can contemplate what she says.
how dark.
how dull.
YOU ARE READING
Spring Mountain Treatment Centre
Poetrydull faces glance out the windows; sitting with their sadness drooping their eyelids they perpetually stare out and away in search for better days.
