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Poem Break

As the end of the world approaches, three boys sit in a silent hospital room unaffected by the goings-on of the apocalyptic outside world. The oldest is twenty-two years old and is the only survivor from a recent five car pile-up involving nine others. The youngest, only eleven, just witnessed his seventeen-year-old sister seizure because of a cocaine overdose.

Had the world not been quickly decaying into oblivion, the young man from the vehicle disaster would most likely have stopped at the liquor store on his way home the day he would have been released from the hospital. He would not have lasted a month with his new found guilt. The child would have begun to search for any kind of release from his intolerable thoughts and his parents’ wrongly distributed rage. Initially he would find this escape in something relatively harmless, along the lines of marijuana or fist fights. Soon though, that would cease to be enough.

As for me, I simply enjoy the excess use of painkillers. I spend most of my time in hospital rooms regardless of circumstance. They have the best painkillers.