The Hospital's Guest

I remain.
Monstrous forces beckon on the periphery of spirit.
Jaundiced faces, with bodies cloaked in white, awaiting the mistress of bile.
Creatures without solace, growing within, never to be satiated till finality is met.
And each day's bill must be paid.

I remain.
Not without merit and seeking only compassion.
My friends and enemies mixed company.
My wallet heavy with paper and light with wealth.
I will not dispel the witch's glance.
I shall, instead, curry favor with the devil in defense of good health.

I remain.
Steadfast and ill.
Blood stained and souless.
Comprehensive and narrow-minded.
Death the participant and director of this farce.

So, go ahead.
Check-in to this factory.
Make yourself known to fools.
Allow their wretched hands to wrench your body.
Make merry in their medieval dungeon.
They remain.
They will stay.
Their gods are not your buttress, they forsake even the light.
The pain you suffer is not theirs.
The drugs they dispense are not for you.
No comfort, because...

I remain.
Awake and emptying out slowly.
A soul's distance no further than the door.

I remain and hope that some loving angel takes my breath.
That this same angel may usher me home, holding the door to heaven ...

... and God is there to welcome me.