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Poem

These next _ minutes are going to be hard...

I open my eyes
Not sure what time it is,
but I bet I can guess.
The drugs never work 
for more than 2 hours,
and the distress from the
pressure in my head and throat
has been suppressing more than
2 hours of sleep a night
for months now -
even with the drugs.
They have me on about 20 now,
and I've cycled through about 20 more.
None of them do a dang thing.

Dang I feel wrecked

They suspect my nervous system
has been effected 
and is now defected in some way.
My body can't regulate itself anymore, 
which is why I'm constantly on fire 

Always on fire

Burning from the inside out.
You'd think I'd be checked out
by now,
but no.
I'm still very much here,
though every cell in my body
is screaming at me not to be,
trapped in the cell it created
with its own hands.

That was back in June.
It's now December.
I can't remember the 
last time I was hungry.
They say this feeding tube is keeping me alive, 
but I can't live another moment
with these knives in my throat,
and the way each muscle seems 
to rip open each time I swallow...

I hear the harrowing sound of the 
pump that never leaves more than 
3 feet from my body -
always playing.
I wonder if the sound will always
resound in my memory,
triggering the same terror
raging through my blood now 

Too terrified to move just to
check the time.

I mentally store all the strength I have,
and, with a painful pace, 
slowly look at my phone

Crap

To be continued...

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