Intensive Care

Confined within walls,
Achromatically morbid,
The long, endless halls,
That take me to bed,
Kindney-shaped bowls,
Stainless and sterile,
Mind-numbing thoughts,
Spinning round in my head.

Thin, plastic tubes,
Intravenously draining,
Disposable cloth,
With iodoform stain,
White rubber boots,
On the hard, shiny tiling,
Footsteps that squeak,
With a violent refrain.

My nursemaid so lithe,
And I, paraplegic,
Crushed in the clinical-
Forceps of life,
Repetitive urges,
Are scant consolation,
Reflecting the pity,
Perceived by her eyes.

I want her to touch me,
She touches the bed sheets,
And acts out the role,
Of a comforting femme,
I smile so politely,
My confidence brittle,
Restraining those feelings,
I get now and then.