Hospitals
The minute another one's gone with the season,
you start to realise that your body isn't just a bag of water.
It is merely a version of a hospital,
carrying in casualties and doing whatever it is able to heal them.
Mend their bones,
Stitch them together,
Rest their knees.
The body will then prove to you that it is far more capable than you think and it will start to save many lives.
It will get used to the warmth of having beds of visitors and countless surgeries,
and it will not mind the collective injury altogether.
What happens next is that the casualties gets to get better,
and they will be able to walk back on their own two feet again; straight up.
The visitors eventually crawl out to exit in a perfect line by the check out counter and leave out in the open; back to wherever it is they came from,
and the body then starts to shrink.
The body starts to realise that the better it heals, the quicker it will purge itself.
The familiar corridors, slowly becoming doorways with no doors;
The elevator, into a deep endless well;
The waiting rooms, into spaces with nothing to actually wait for.
This is the part where the body swells and questions its place in the world.
The part where it curses why it is what it is,
The part where it wishes it was some other building that instead carries in bright-eyed people that knows what they signed up for,
The part where it demands for something it cannot carry for the long run.
It will get used to the warmth of having beds of visitors and countless surgeries,
and it will not mind the collective injury altogether.
What happens next is that the casualties gets to get better,
and they will be able to walk back on their own two feet again; straight up.
The visitors eventually crawl out to exit in a perfect line by the check out counter and leave out in the open; back to wherever it is they came from,
and the body then starts to shrink.
The body starts to realise that the better it heals, the quicker it will purge itself.
The familiar corridors, slowly becoming doorways with no doors;
The elevator, into a deep endless well;
The waiting rooms, into spaces with nothing to actually wait for.
This is the part where the body swells and questions its place in the world.
The part where it curses why it is what it is,
The part where it wishes it was some other building that instead carries in bright-eyed people that knows what they signed up for,
The part where it demands for something it cannot carry for the long run.
The dangerous thing about being able,
is that it has to be just you that fills yourself in the end.
Would you look at that.
The bandages are running low, again.
You should get them soon.
is that it has to be just you that fills yourself in the end.
Would you look at that.
The bandages are running low, again.
You should get them soon.
