Depth of Rage

I hate the feeling of sitting in pain
Alone, practically topless in a hospital gown and cold
So fucking cold that I use my flannel to cover my feet
Trembling in stress and fear of what it could be
Has death finally come for me at last?
My mind can't help but play in a loop
The idea of ripping out the iv and running
That lovely thought of escape beeping alongside
The machine monitoring my erratic vitals
Reminding me that I'm still very much alive
The rage of being alone and hurt building;
Boiling, bubbling and snapping deep inside
Griping my fists; my nails into my palm
Wanting to lash out at something, anything
As if I had that energy to spare so I watch
As my cellphone dies like a countdown to the end
The number going down and down right with my patience
My mind digs in its heels trying to not spiral
With thoughts of what I did to deserve this
Anger at how slow the healing process is
And the fucking beeping machine driving my fury higher
As my mind sinks into a soft kind of despair
Tittering on acceptance and fighting it
Wanting to die in one breathe and wanting to live in another
Having no idea what to do in the silent loudness
Of quietly sitting alone in an er with my fear dipped rage