My Very Bad H3n2-Flu Dreams
Achy with flu, but to tired to drift into a deep sleep, my body stalks the corridors of twilight, moving between being awake and floating on dreams. Time is a stranger to physics and physics are dictated by my restless thoughts that have become unmoored and adrift.
My head is too hot, but my feet are cold. The murmurings of an evil sprite that sits by my ear and whispers jokes about my failures and describes the ironies of how my dreams of success are just puns of failures. I try to argue with him but he is privy to all and understands nothing and capers with delight at my dismay. Growing furious, I try to grapple with him, but says with a wink “I know of things that are much worse, do you want to sing those songs with me later?”
The clock next to my bed says its 2:04AM, and I think: “How interesting, that is the same as my temperature. What a fever I am running!”. Yet, I know I am wrong, and I wonder if fevers are measured in Celsius, Fahrenheit or kilometers. But that doesn’t seem right somehow.
I wonder if I should have taken another pill; a Tylenol or LSD or maybe something to give me an ********. It has been such a long time since I have had intercourse, and my hand moves to my ***** and finds it asleep. “Traitor! Even if my head hurts to much to screw, who would want me?”.
Did I hear that from the girl sitting on my bookcase and putting on different faces with her lipstick. I don’t recognize her names but I remember the heartaches. She laughs and says “too bad, had you been more of somethings and less of others, I could have loved you. But you were less and more, so I went to be away from here and off to be there.”
How did I not notice a basket of kittens are tangling with the skeins of fate? I try to catch them, but they are so delicate that I crush them into smaller cats and press them deeper into the lace. If only I could put them back in the basket, but the tiny cats get under the bed, in the closet, and behind the comforter where the sprite plays with them using a bit of life’s twine.
The clock says its 1:30 AM and that just seems unfair. I've slept through this hour and now I am much more tired and sore than the first time I was here before. A pill would be nice, maybe one to make me sleep or allow me talk to that girl who I know is loving someone else in a way that I can’t capture. Like those freaking kittens! Maybe I should have dreamed of a puppy?
Copyright © Patrick Frost | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment