I run to the river and dive straight in
I pray that the water will drown out the din
Amalia hates the infirmary.
The acrid stench of cleaning supplies, the endless rows of white sheets and beds, the captivity behind the sterile facade- she hates it with a deep, feral loathing.
Or she would, had she the energy to do so.
It takes enough energy just to open her eyes; mustering up the strength to feel loathing is far beyond her capability. No, what Amalia feels as she lies in her bed and stares at the ceiling through blank, black eyes is not anger, or fear, or sadness, or loss.
Just like her legs that refuse to move, Amalia feels numb.
The acrid stench of cleaning supplies, the endless rows of white sheets and beds, the captivity behind the sterile facade- she hates it with a deep, feral loathing.
Or she would, had she the energy to do so.
It takes enough energy just to open her eyes; mustering up the strength to feel loathing is far beyond her capability. No, what Amalia feels as she lies in her bed and stares at the ceiling through blank, black eyes is not anger, or fear, or sadness, or loss.
Just like her legs that refuse to move, Amalia feels numb.
i swallow the sound and it swallows me whole
'Til there's nothing left inside my soul
Amalia