7th Floor
By Rosie Phetphouthay

Anthony was the first friend I made.
He was a tired old man
That loved others more than they loved him
He saw death through my eyes
And offered me a cranberry juice
He asked me to pray with him
Because God was carrying him
And I could feel Him carry me too
Fighting for me;
as I struggled to fight for myself

I met Marcus after I told everyone why... 
I was trying not to die
By my own hands
He walked out after my confession
“This shit is too depressing.”
His girlfriend had overdosed
He was in jail when she passed
When he got the news
He relapsed into a tired routine
Until he tried to end the cycle
By running into oncoming traffic

Jose fell in like with me--
He drew a picture of my name
An unspoken confession
I told him he was too old for me
He said, “Thank you.”
Because he would have always wondered
He’s homeless and
You can’t make homes out of people 

Eric felt defeated,
He had a little boy waiting for him at home
The experimental meds kept him inconsistent
His eyes were always glazed over
Like a zombie, he was undead
Because he sure as hell wasn’t living
I placed my hands on his
To bring him back to Earth
I wanted him to know darkness
Meant there was light
I saw a rebirth in his posture
Moon was my reflection
I thought she was crazy
Only because I knew I was
We were desensitized to trauma
Yet we could feel each other

Levon couldn’t remember names;
His brain was left in shocks
He focused on what he could
And had us piece the puzzles together
He told us we were the missing pieces

My friends visited me each day
It felt like forgiveness
For all the ugly things I felt and acted on
We were all on the 7th floor--
the psyche ward. 

Where we found comfort amongst the broken.