Color of Emergency

Written from the eyes of a suicide survivor in the emergency room.

The walls, though a pale peachy yellow, seem dark. 
They seem to talk, to listen, to feel all the stories that they've witnessed. 
A broken nose?
Survived. 
An asthma attack?
Survived.
A near fatal car crash?
Survived.
One's own stupidity?
Survived.
Unfortunately. 
The color of the walls suits not the stories. 
It belongs in a happy place. 
This isn't a happy place. 
This is a sad place.
A sad room where bad things happen. 
People die here. 
People live here also. 
Unfortunately. 

The color doesn't match the smell here. 
The smell is clean. 
Too clean. 
Bleachy, almost. 
The smell is despair... depression and disappointment. 
The smell is death. 
But it is also life. 
The color is an attempt to cause a positive state of mind in a mind that wishes it wasn't alive. 
It's an attempt at causing happiness in a room where happiness has left. 
Blood should be the color.
It suits what the walls see. 
It should be the color of emergency. 

Author's Note

Author's Note: I haven't been to the emergency room, I haven't been a suicide survivor. I've never even attempted suicide. This was written purely from imagination.

Reviews

[Amanda Naomi]

to me it didn't feel like a sucide poem, but i thought it was good, i actually think its better without thinking about suiced (i didn't see the note until after i read it)

to me i saw someone who was grieving the death of a family member, and was between anger, denial, and acceptance.

it was a neat write, thank you for sharing