PICU

We spend time here slowly breaking down,

Sharing your break down,

Mentally, physically broken down,

What happened here?

 

Easier to handle tears than clenched fists,

Which cry differently but still hurt,

Hurt you, hurt us and we came to help heal not hurt,

So tell me, how can we make this work?

 

Anger fills these corridors,

Does your raised voice drown the voices out?

We raise ours too, frustration,

We hear voices too saying ‘keep calm, we can work this out’.

 

I’m using words like us and we,

But I believe we are quite the same,

Head banging against the glass window,

Our glass window is not the same,

I used that word again – us.

 

Head banging against the window,

Picture the sound.

THUD. THUD. THUD. THUD.

I think it was four times, sound replaying,

What the fuck are those voices saying?!

 

I can’t hear yours all I hear is pain.

Whether it be the sound of your head hitting the glass again,

Or angry shouts, fists flying, sometimes they connect,

Blood spilt, teeth lost, along with a little respect.

 

It’s loud in here.

But there’s sort of no sound in here.

Young men fight to the ground in here.

18. Young men fight to the ground in here.

Staff hopelessly trying to empower in here.

Patients lost hope and plummet down in here.

Voices linger in the air in here.

Recovery, a strong word but weak sounding in here.

Parents sadness hangs in the air.

Young men feeling let down in here.

We all joined this place to lend a hand in here.

Help somebody help themselves, but that’s not how it always goes down in here.

Revolving doors, these men are in and out of here.

‘Take care, please don’t let us see you next year’.

But we often do.

 

We spent time here slowly breaking down.

We.

 

Written in 2016©

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