Struggling to breath,
my lungs are overflowing with phlegm,
my throat closing.
Rushing down small halls
Stressed mother and father.
This could be the end.
Why can’t the doctors help?
I am rushed by a wailing box to a bigger whiter building
Beep Beep Beeeep
The machines measure the life left in me
Medicine that would save or harm me.
I take it
Thick white, smog in my lungs.
Hopefully it helps.
Mother is gone now,
Its just me and my father in the hospital.
His large hairy hand, rough from life
My little pink lungs working overtime
Hoping this isn’t the last time I close my eyes,
Only to have the sight of white gowns racing down blue halls.
Only to have a transportable hospital in my pocket.
Baggage to save my life over and over.
- Kiera V.v