fuzzy image
when the shadow of extraordinary expectations is high
sharpness of my senses cockeyed
it's like walking through a thick fog
I feel my fuzzy image
leaving stains on the slippery floor
for what it’s worth?
when everything I ever wanted is here
but what I need is left somewhere where
I can’t operate
I can’t handle it
I can’t get my head round it
every time I try it just looks at me
disbelievingly dazed, disembodied disembowelment
it pricks my brain
to the last drops of consciousness
after that, there is no return
and all body parts arranged themselves
in all arrays of blue
telling me the saddest truth of all
am I dying or not just yet?
please tell me, Ms. Pill!
*
Written while I was waiting for my biopsy results. In the end, everything turned out well, but the amount of physical and mental pain during those two weeks was unbearable. I had to ease it in this poem to help myself.
***
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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