Hospital

O corpo é algo estranho. De tanto guardar coisas úteis e inúteis aqui neste corpo frágil, algo quebrou, arrebentou, estourou. Uma veia, um vaso? Não sei. Algo aqui dentro.

Entendam, estou no limiar da sobrevivência. Se vívessemos em uma época de seleção natural implacável, eu já estaria fora da piscina genética há tempos. Mas por causa de proteção demais eu continuo aqui. Sofro com Leigh Nash e sua voz doce no meu ouvido, ela quebra tudo aqui dentro.

E o hospital continua aquele monstro que me aterrorizava quando criança. O enomre monstro branco e vermelho, e as pessoas já devoradas por ele – suas almas drenadas e devolvidas apenas ao final do expediente. Elas me tratam. Me tratam mal. Me maltratam.

O que machuca mais é a insensibilidade dos que são pagos para curar e, supostamente, terem empatia com o sofrimento alheio.

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