Step through these doors,
the air chills to the bone,
the smell of antiseptic,
on this fear, I’m overthrown.
White walls whisper tales,
echoes of despair,
ghosts in every corner,
floating through the sterile air.
In every corridor,
I hear the echoes call,
in the beep of machines,
in the shadowed hall.
Hospitals hold the endings,
stitched with silent cries,
where the bright lights flicker,
and a part of me just dies.
Hallways stretch like lifelines,
tangled in my mind,
every step an echo
of the fears I’ve left behind.
IVs drip like clockwork,
counting down the time,
in these halls of healing,
I find a steep decline.
Why do these rooms spin tales
of ending days?
Surrounded by recovery,
yet lost in a fearful haze.
Clean yet soiled,
healing yet it maims,
in these walls,
the air is thick with unnamed claims.
So I stand here frozen,
in these haunted flows,
a place of life and death,
where the quiet dread grows.
I’m suffocating in the white,
gripped by what I fear most,
for in this place of healing,
I’m just a fading ghost.