I’ve been in a white room

For days, albeit feels

Only like an hour,

My mouth feels lifeless

And terribly sour.

 

I haven’t seen the moon

Or the stars,

When I look in the mirror,

I see ghastly scars.

 

Monitor-beeps still sound

Heavy in my head,

Keep me away from

The colour red.

 

I don’t take fluids

Through injected pipes

Anymore,

My feet feel fortunate

To finally feel

The floor.

 

Do not ask me of  

My identity or credentials,

Or the tattooed initial

On my cervical spine,

I’m unaware of what’s

Presently mine.

 

Nothing in my mind

Is near to being clear,

I feel like I’ve just

Arrived here.