point of view

the walls of the infirmary
are white.
the long coats
of doctors are white
too, the nurses
are splattered
red
as if Jackson pollock
had just left
the room.
the gurney I am
rolled upon
is sheeted white
as well. i feel the ironed
starch of them
upon my skin. I see the life
of me
puddle in a brownish
hue.
unheavenly lights
flicker above me,
fluorescent
and full of sparkle
from this view.
I see the face
of a surgeon lean over
me
as they insert a needle
into a vein,
place a shield
of air
upon my mouth.
his eyes are dark
and worried.
everything will be just
fine,
someone says.
why do I keep hearing
those words.
I see the knife.