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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Dark · #2159460
A poem I wrote deep into the night last Saturday.
I own all hiking trails
Written: 5/26/2018

I thought I couldn't do the 8:30 to 5.
Folding the towels, replacing light fixtures,
moving patients from bed to bed.
Rolling the IGS machine, the bovie, the
surgery bed.
take a break, open up the locker to grab my phone
so I can look at stupid shit for 15 minutes.
Sometimes 20.
Fill up the anestesia cart.
need 4 of the ondesatron, 3 of the Roccoronium,
1 succylinchloride, 9 ketolac ect... ect
ect.....
hello, good morning, fake smiles and laughs.
Back when I felt I inherited the earth and
on high from thinking me, a bum,
owned all the hiking trails,
I didn't have
to put up with this shit.
back, with the headphones in my ears, living
with my brother then with my parents last year I
glided my fingers across the railings during
the late afternoons: Where a cross was in the
blue sky and red clouds at dusk
that could strike and bring out a single tear.
Just walking around for hours without a dollar
to my name and now look at me.
Camp lowell, you gave it to me.
Just as how John Fante wrote about Los Angeles I
write about you.
My sad flower in the sand.
Tuesday I will return to work after memorial day
weekend and I will
feel your love.
Love as cold as razor wire.
Maybe, just maybe, the sweet embrace of
death will come like a shadow over me monday
night & I won't have to suffer another

day in this life.
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