Friday, November 07, 2008

The Infirmary

There are things nobody wants to understand

Why pain is fast fading
But sorrow lingers

Why at 3 O'clock in the morning
we fidget our feet
and writhe like an arthritic hand
Thinking about things
that were so long ago
It became fiction

Why when we drink
Liquor drudges up the dirt
instead of cleansing it

Why a part of us is missing
but only we can feel the void

It's like we are bandaged casualties
wounded in wars already decided
still bleeding out

Members of an infirmary without doctors
Self medicating in the mean time
And silently praying for a cure