Expiry

lupus has been

one big pull

my head

floating

a sensation

being pulled back

away from my eyes

pulled down.

down.

(what's the worst

that can happen?

you faint?)

I take my temp

three times

to be sure.

what's the procedure...

I'm forgetful

it feels

hard to write.

//

I'm chased

in my dreams

a lot.

If I were

to psychoanalyze

myself,

I'd surmise

I'm running from

my body's rage

subconsciously.

I'm implicitly

recognizing

the inevitable yielding.

succumb.

resign.

darken.

(is it all

that bad?)

//

I envision

myself old

and huddled.

eating the same meals.

clockwork.

washing down

an assortment

of daily potions.

herbs.

clattering pill bottles.

taking one

weekly outing.

mustering strength.

pity-eyed glances.

counting

my remaining

spoons.

//

I'm alone

in all these

visions.

I mentally add

a pet

or two.

but even that

feels dangerous.

old erin kicks the bucket.

no one comes searching.

cats starve.

no.

I couldn't risk it.

they'd have to be

outdoor cats.

stray visitors.

passerby.

my favorite kind

of company.

//

back to

the dreams.

I'm being

chased

by an expiry.

my expiry.

my stagnation.

hence,

why my hand froze

above the lock

in the door

in the dream space.

the man

barreling down

the hall

toward me.

(what's the worst

that can

happen?)

//

I wake up.

I write hurriedly

feet purple.

97.2.

fuel the cycle,

fueling existence

ignoring the clock.