November 14, 2016
By Anonymous

Lying still

in the shroudlike dark

That oily substance

oozes from cracks in the walls

Concocting monsters

from the mundane


Up the corridor

flocks of nurses

chatter amongst themselves

Comparing notes before

dancing away from sleep's grasp

off to the next patient

Ballerina's on an

electric-wired floor


Reality's a bit skewed here

But the thin line

between sleep and wakefulness

cuts through the murk

A harsh white



And I see

footprint shaped groves

worn into the floor

from endless pacing

The darkened outlines

of disgust, misery, self-loathing

etched into the walls

Deep scream-gorged ravines

criss-cross the ceiling above


All of these

unwanted momentos

Left behind by girls

just like


The author's comments:

This is a poem I wrote a few years ago, when I was admitted to hospital. I was diagnosed with anorexia, had a tude forced up my nose, and then left to my own devices. I was put in the pink room, the biggest one on the ward, and the one most often empty. Only girls with eating disorders were put in there. I think the administrators thought we would band together. But they all got better and left me behind. It was lonely and when I was by myself, my mind began to wander, and with no one to check it, it began cococting monsters out of the empty beds.

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