two women bring me to a dressing room, handing me scrubs because apparently my clothes pose a threat for me and the others here.
slipping them on, i notice how awfully uncomfortable these are; the scratchy fabric chafes my poor nipples throughout the whole night.
the women then lead me into a dark room, the only light being from their flashlight. they tell me to go to bed and that they'll be waking me up at seven in the morning.
i slide into a bed that feels just so amazingly uncomfortable; the discomfort from both the scrubs and the bed cause me to cry-- but i cry silently in fear of waking my roommate who was fast asleep on her belly.
i stare up at the ceiling in hope for some sort of inspiration that could keep me alive through the night: but i find nothing.
it usually doesn't rain in Las Vegas in January (or so ive been told) but tonight the sky is proving a point; the condensation of the rain pushes through the windows, bringing an eerie chill with themselves.
the heater turns on and clinks and clanks; buzzing and whirring.
clink clank. ffpt ffpt. clink clank. ffpt ffpt. clink clank. ffpt ffpt.
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.
