Fiasco

Poetry in prose: medical neglect written as the victim in abstract.

Sterile, stark-white strip-lights sear and burn their imprint into sunken sockets. Domination through cleanliness; ethanol, corrosive in its penetration - Do Not Worry. These Are Professionals.

Cold embrace clamps stainless steel restraint; the skin is chapped, the mouth is dry - a voice, ringing in my head: Fear Not. They Know What They Are Doing.

Thoughts of Neglect - Hush. A Noxious Gas within my mind. Vinyl Glove - skin tight as aching fingers worm their way to my core. You Have Nothing To Fear - an oath: to Serve, Save, Protect - They Would Never Hurt You--

But they Are hurting me - 'UNINTENTIONAL' - I say they ARE-- 'IF IT HURTS THAT MEANS IT'S WORKING' - but what's Wrong with me, i ask? As digits move, as knuckles rearrange.

And for the first time, my Mind? silent
Open-ended discussion, but i am due in no part - what's Wrong with me? i ask, but still does Surgeon operate, leaving one piece lingering within my mind:

NEGLECT .