A place of healing, lies forgotten, left to rot and moulder.
Long passages once pristine, antiseptic scrubbed.
Now decay. Paint peels, droops and sags.
They spill upon the rat infested floor.
Voices reverberate around the space.
Pain, anguish and yet,
There’s also love from the ones who tended, cared, supported.
Theatre of pain and healing. Blood soaked floor.
Abandoned now, for place of glass and steel
State of art.
But do fancy rooms and private baths, make for better care?
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