The Reaction
I lay here in the bunk
all made of white
a sharp twinge of my viscera
a small request I make
to take some ease.
In she sweeps on quiet feet
to bring some abatement
without a soul
she trods with a cold heart.
In my stream the fire does spread
slowly, then with increasing heat
my brain burns, my skin aflame.
I call out through the fog
the siren I blow.
It falls on deaf ears
she hears all with no regard.
I beg relief
none do I get
what can one do but wait.
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