toward the exit

The sun rose each dawn and set by dusk in marking of time,
Seldom was it seen, for this now was not the measure of day.
But in its place tube feed count against breast,
Bursts in bilateral movement tally,
Trace to physical stimuli response,
Phenobarb dose to Phenytoin,
Milligram per milliliter,
And the changing of rooms.

It was symbolic of strength, determination, sheer will;
Improvement.
The closer we crept toward the exit,
Room hopping each day, leaving behind yesterday, toward hope,
One square meter at a time.

Surely it wouldn’t be long now?

Petrified and exhilarated in equal measure,
For what I yearned for and feared.
To take my baby home.

The monotonous sterilised walls, twenty-four hour lighting, the steadying beep of heart rate, the hum of modern medicine.
I had come accustom. Reliant. Dependent.
Institutionalised.

Could I trust without screen readings?
I doubt.
Nature had failed me once, paranoia told me it could again.

Regardless, I was powerless to a say,
Someone would direct me accordingly.
And I would have to find my bearings, compass less.
By the stars in your eyes.