Sick
I'm so ****ing sick,
Damn I knew I needed that quick fix,
My brains boiling in my head,
Damn voices won't shut up,
I can't even think straight,
My heads throbbing so badly.
I can't even feel my hands anymore,
What was laced in with my drink?,
Or did I smoke some bad weed?
No ****ing way I should feel like this.
I don't feel high,
What is this I'm feeling?,
Why can't I feel my hands?,
I can't even feel my lips move,
Am I just speaking through my mind?
What happened to Tom?
I can't even move my neck,
Feels like the bones are broken,
And what the hells that smell?,
God it's awful; smells like death.
Out of the corner of my eye,
I see something slumped against the wall,
I try to move myself to get a better look,
But my body feels so weak,
And so freezing cold.
"Tom" I cry out,
Where are you?"
All I hear is a faint gurgling sound,
Coming from somewhere,
By that glass window maybe.
I just sit there,
Knowing that somethings amiss here,
Feeling a little bit like a dream,
But I know it's real,
I can feel the pain coursing through my body.
That's when my arms begin to feel itchy,
And I'm able to move a little,
Turning my head around,
Facing Tom lying there,
With Blood bubbling from his mouth,
His eyes rolling in his head.
Wondering what happened,
Only feeling nausea take over,
Inducing a dream like state,
That my mind sinks into,
As consciousness slips away,
Dragging me into oblivion.
I know this is the end,
That I can't escape it now,
This poison or whatever it is,
Is coursing through my veins,
And I shall at long last...meet my maker.
Copyright © Robert Needles | Year Posted 2012
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