Stripped

I have been stripped to the most elemental creature,
where the only goals for the day are
putting soap on my body
and standing up for twenty consecutive minutes.
The rest of the hours are spent
staring at the cement-coloured paint—
or maybe it’s yellow—
and watching Johnny Galecki make moderate jokes
followed by an irksome laugh track.

In a place where air conditioning
seems hard to come by, my sweat
becomes a second skin.
My bones ache from being slack.
Everyone in the vicinity has seen me bare,
the vulnerability unbearable.

The world doesn’t miss me. People might,
but the world itself leaves a reminder that
my purpose is negligible.
I dissociate from everything existing
outside of these concrete walls.
I have reverted to the merest being.
My hospital bed has become my cocoon,
wrapping me up for safety until
I become ready to join the world again.