Patient X
Harsh sunlight simmers my arm to redness,
Poplar leaves rustle and pixilate,
Seen through his view point it’s a lit screen,
Sending him signals and refracting back
His own thoughts, emotions and subtle commands.
He tracks his fingers through greasy locks
And I see the muddy smears on his ankle,
Maybe from a walk or the root vegetables,
He scatters about his flat, beetroots beneath the bed
Parsnips under the sink and shattered mirror.
His forearms are bare, white thick lines cross
In uniform patterns up past the elbow.
He can feel something, inside the neurons,
Scrambling the chemicals, reacting and flowing
Down his arms, he demonstrates rubbing his hand
Up and down the length of his delicate arm.
But it’s stuck somewhere, the chemicals are lodged
Somewhere in the blood and need to be flushed out,
It could be, it must be, seething below
The surface of his skin, he feels it there writhing.
His eyes fall heavy downwards,
Deep opaque amber and he’s squinting at me
Pain crumpling his face like a puppy,
Kicked in the guts.
“It’s better, I’m better.”
His heart shimmering and translucent, it could burst
Through with its desperate beating,
The alchemy of dread and panic,
I see the heart bulge,
His phantom chemicals blocking it up.
His hands hang by his sides as we say goodbye,
Wanting something to hold,
But we’ve nothing to offer but appointments,
A free gym pass, a bus pass and a chat.
He walks into the midday sun,
Leaves quivering,
Chemicals surging the brain.
A stick figure in black,
Stumbling on.
Copyright © Grace Helen | Year Posted 2017
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