A Clockwork Orange - My A-Level Creative Pieces

By request of a friend, I have my series of Clockwork Orange poetry which I wrote back in 2010 (again). The institution trying to help our dear friend Alex, but these methods aren't what they seem.

Needle

Another needle in

Just like yesterday;

Why do I get the feeling,

The feeling that nothing’s changed -

Except me?

The needle goes in,

It smells the same:

Bitter, sick and sterile;

Slammed right in,

It feels the same:

Painful, cold and vile.

Even the nurse,

She’s the same person

Who punctures and injects me,

But maybe the needle has changed…

I could do with some new friends,

Ones who don’t do pain,

But though the needle changes

The pain stays the same.

Then there’s me.

I see the wasted face

In an imperfect mirror;

Not much left to prove I’m alive,

Except the sting

Of my stinking metal friend and his wife.

Touching the spot he loves,

My hand trembles,

The door opens,

And he’s grinning at me again.

Here, our dear friend Alex has been saved from his suicidal leap, finding himself confused in his hospital bed.

I Shouldn’t Be Here

Did someone say my name?

I’m sure they did, but where from

And for how long,

I cannot comprehend.

I’m not even sure I know my name,

Or if I’ve been acquainted with pain;

There should be something

Telling me I’m broken, and bleeding,

Beyond hope.

But no, here in Bedlam

I realise the doctors are saving me,

Restoring me to a life I remember

Trying to get rid of,

And now there’s a gaping numbness in its place,

No pain, no suffering at all.

Did someone say my name?

I’m sure they did,

Just wish I could see them.

Slowly the eyes ease open

As the gateway to Hell slams in the wind;

The wind blows the smell of death to me,

And Death takes my hand.

“You’re going to be fine, son.”

If I had a hand free I’d let you know

You lie; I’m not dead,

But I bet you wish I was.

These are two of a set of 6 but I don't have too much faith in the worth of the rest so I may have to let them lie for awhile.