Disconnected Poem by Adam Scott

These cracked and snapped remnants which were once ribs,
Right arm encapsulated in concrete,
These visions at night that play on repeat,
Intravenous intervening in drips.

The skin on my face just hanging in strips,
This box on my right plays a one-tone beat.
This mask full of air that hinders my speech,
My hand and fingers refusing to grip.

Tubular connections feed through my side,
Surge of white glare escape elevators,
My reflection lost through two broken eyes
My breath confined inside respirators.
This disguise I see I don’t recognise,
Perhaps I can still find myself later.