writer's block part two

Running Hours at the 8th Extension Floor

Everything comes alive at the nurse's station...

The nursing cap...
Plain. Bland. Cold.
Apathetic. Proud. Majestic.
It stands still as a corpse.
Useless and sanguine.
Its prestige accounts not for what it's worth.

IV infusion...
Transparent. Aloof. Guarded.
Frightened. Hurting. Begging.
It pleads silenty for its life.
Pitiful and tragic.
It self destructs with every drip in order to construct another.

10 cc syringe...
Ebullient. Erect. Fierce.
Cruel. Blood thirsty. Merciless.
It waits ferociously in broad day light.
Vaunting and taunting.
It brings misery in order to cure.

I... a mere of a person.
Invisible. Prejudged. Hollow.
Hopeless. Bitter. Tired.
I drown in my soliloquy.
Silent and loud.
I breathe in vain... wanting not to be seen and be seen at the same time.