Bleach

Everything is infused with the scents of chemicals and bleach,

'Scent' is too delicate a word for the choking fumes,

That make my eyes sting and trail tears of diluted blood,

This white-tiled institution is full of those chemicals,

Polished, gleaming as clinical and cold as a computer screen,

Shatter and splinter the glass to jagged shards all over the floor,

Let me clamber out through a window still edged with spikes of glass,

Shredding my bruised limbs into a mangled, bloodied mess,

Bleach still poisoning me, burning me as I inhale,

Blackening my throat and lungs,

Killing me.

The End

14 comments about this poem Feed