A suppressed longing,
sitting quiet and numb.
The clock strikes eight,
prodding and poking.
Emotions feel fluid,
a free-flowing river.
Jumbled emotions;
medical instruments
seem to be colder.
Every hole examined,
nothing remains empty,
anoetic consciousness.
Unknowing becomes
knowing, as you move
into thought and action.
Stripped naked and bare,
as white-coated figures
take what you love away.
No choices remain,
being different is a sin,
you’d rather be dead.
C & K 