Am I crazy? / I walk down the street and my ears fill with noises / And sometimes I run until my vision gets hazy.
You say that it’s my choice? / So therefore I can choose? / I just cannot believe, / Those words you just used.
Life is a collection of stories / Housed within us all / Pages of precious memories / Plastered upon our walls
A decision was at hand. Which trail would lead him where he wanted to go? The right or left? Both or neither? A simple choice. An impossible choice.
Climbing the steps one foot at a time \ He fell short of just one. \ But it is a part of the paradigm \ So I convince him that his journey is far from done.
He wished he could talk to Jane. His Jane, not the paranoid woman who hid wads of cash from him in their sock drawer. His Jane would know what to do.
While being inundated with information on most things that are normal and abnormal about the human body, it is important to remember that we learn all this information to treat patients, not to treat diseases.
“Procurement tonight” — a text / I’ve been anxiously awaiting with both excitement and dread, / for on transplant service this means / a life must be lost to save another’s.
She said, / “Doctor: / I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but / I really want to get pregnant.”
This painting is for patients and those who provide medical care who are in need of inspiration.
It was pink / like the flowers he buys his wife. / It was not uniform.
The room kept going in and out of focus. That was why she did not notice him at first. All she could pay attention to was the way her hands and feet kept going cold, hot and then cold again — all happening in step with the alternating blurring and clearing of her vision.