Blood Loss

Finished my internship today – It wasn’t too bad, but I think writing much more SEO stuff would’ve driven me insane.

For now, I’m exhausted, feeling like shit and close to vomiting, I believe. As such, here’s something I wrote to keep my mind on something else, anything else, than the sensations which curdle in my stomach.

It crawls from the soles of my feet,
or so my body tells me.
I know from where it originates,
this unbearable heat,
which carries the potential of vomit
and the guarantee of injury.

My pancreas is a shrivelled thing,
a dead creature trapped beneath my stomach,
and it lies unused whilst the
white crystals take the role of king;
demanding the execution
of my organs and the plunder of my health.

This undignified rape of my system,
sends alien sounds curling
up the canal of my throat.
My eyes are heavy and I listen,
for any hope to an end
of this illness, of this theft of myself.

The needle passes through my skin,
and remains unmoved by the marvels within.
The clear poison, a poor substitute
for the silent efficiency of a healthy organ’s din.
I die, I know, in such moments as these,
and they are a suicide,
or of death, they are but a tease.

I live, perhaps, when I am such,
exhausted, crippled, wounded
by these things that I consume.
At gaily painted wrappers I clutch,
like a john to a Durex,
to make life bearable in the same way
as he visits his favourite whore
for the certainty of a good lay.

But I cannot fuck with such illness,
cannot perform such intricacies
whilst beneath the perversity
of this blood poisoning weakness.

I miss woman,
and her smell, instead of clinical wipes
and sweat and shit ignored,
even after repeated summons.

But I cannot move my limbs,
so tightly wound are the wires,
within which I see my own blood.

I move through those wires
moving from the crook of my arm,
pushing past the bruises and the wounds,
to climb ever higher.

I hope my blood can see what comes next,
as I sink back into the pillows,
and sleep, without wakeful dreams
of plaintiff cries
and repeated hypochondria,
ignored by the wives of Christ.

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