Tristan Robert Lange
Saccharine Succor
“Patient 013666
“Please come to window 3.”
Cold.
White.
Sanitized.
The barren womb
of institutionalized empathy.
Apathy apparently
Creeps its way in;
The sterile smiles
Greet the disenfranchised.
“This way please.
“Here’s the phone,
“You’ll be here alone,
“It’s the best we’ve got.”
The best they’ve got?
The call begins
The unraveling
Of broken pathways
In a twisted world.
“The team will decide.”
What team?
Who are they?
Why aren’t they here?
Who is this saccharine songbird,
And what song is being sung?
“The team” has the power.
“Have a nice day.”
They’re shallow words.
They mean as much to me
As they do to the disembodied voice.
The questions linger
In this house of hospitality.
© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.