Twisted bones and twisted eyes,
I guess white beds aren't made to rise,
Needles, drugs and lost appetite,
Curtains closed till the morning strikes,
Chipped lips and scratched throats,
Neck deep in blue thoughts,
Caution tapes around the wrists,
Delicate knives are only gifts,
Tears aren't allowed to spill,
Five more days and then you will,
Find your way back home,
Out of a hole of some syndrome,
White coats and pretty faces,
Love you's and get well soon's races,
Through the air,
As I stare,
Across the room at empty embraces,
Catches the sight,
The invisible scratches on the walls,
And broken windows upright,
Vacant beds covered with care,
Like no one ever cried here...
Or Like no one ever died here...
The scenario is kinda tricky.
Diseases (Twisted bones, twisted eyes, needles, lost appetite),
Disorders (Holes of some syndrome, invisible scratches on the walls),
Depression (Neck deep in blue thoughts),
Suicide (Empty embraces, Delicate knives),
Accidents (Caution tapes, Way back home)... And so on.
I don't personally like to go to hospitals. It makes me nauseous. I don't know why.
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Tilted Words |✎|Poetry
Some Tilted Words to straighten my world. [Some amateur poems by my 15-16 year old self] [Highest rank- #1 in poesia] [Rank #53 in poetry] [Winner of the Mystical Awards June 2018 Edition]