Methodical Demise

December 1, 2011
Doors open on their own
Figures in white blend together
All rushing somewhere,
There is a constant buzz
My lungs tingle
Breathe! No!
The tingle stops
My lungs fill with burning air
The sick smell
Of chemicals that try to kill
even the tinniest germs
Footsteps echo
Walls close in

A tiny, bright white room
A constant beep
Twitching legs demand I flee
I battle in my mind
Half screams go
Half thinks stay
I see him lying there,
I move forward
My legs are not my own
The constant beep gone
A straight line
A long beep that doesn’t stop

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