By Alison Smith, 2014
How many days spent counting days?
Feverish and sleepless nights
Wracked with pain; suffering alone,
Waiting for you to return.
Bodies come back broken,
Minds a waste from the desert heat.
Stress seeps into the bones;
Strangers coming home,
Reintegrated into this alien wasteland.
It's stolen a piece at a time:
Health, an empty promise.
Incisions and Vicodin mask the pain,
For a while.
I only exist in two places:
In the hole behind closed doors
And the waiting room.
Waiting for the clock to stop
Beating its hands bloody
Against the sands of time.
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