Disclaimer: Rent belongs to Jonathan Larson.

What I See When I Wake Up

Is not too impressive,
altogether.
The room is private
and there is a bouquet
and a "Get Well" card—
a tasteful one, with a pressed flower—
which means I'm here on Their dime.

Shit.

The walls are a white color
that makes me think of vomit
or a very ill man's fecal matter
and I want a window
and real live flowers.

My body hurts so much,
all over, I hurt, I ache;
my throat like I've been
screaming, the same ache
I sometimes felt after being with--
I say being with.
I mean giving oral to--
Maureen.
My lungs can't seem to
breathe; my nose tastes
something horrible and my
elbow feels like it's been
used as a pincushion.

All around me
there are machines
there are tubes
there are monitors
there are noises
that hurt my ears
droning,

"You
Are
A
Failure."

They hurt
and they tell me
"This
is what happens
to failures."

On the other side of me
a man—
a man?
since when?—
sits in a chair
slumped
with his head in his hands
I wonder if he picked that jacket
because he knows I like it
or if he does know
that I like how soft it makes him look
and it smells like cigarettes
and mint leaves.

to be continued