On Edge

I wake with hope in my eyes and my lungs,

The sun streams in through a cracked window

but does not warm me.

My hands are cold.

My skin is warm?

I am roused and move

sleep clinging to my eyelashes

and consuming my body.

Tired, tired, tired.

I got eight hours of sleep…

Medicine taken. Water drunk. Clothes acquired.

My hands remain cold.

My stomach starts to growl

but I am running late.

Should eat - need to eat -

and so grab a tangerine

to be peeled by shaking hands as I walk to my destination.

Why am I going purple?

The hope slowly fades as the wind creeps in

and wraps itself around my bones,

stiffening my trembling limbs and freezing my blood.

My head is clear, surprisingly so,

when my body is so sluggish and dead.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

An hour passes, a meeting completed.

I am content while fuelled by fruit

yet the sugar wears off

the shaking returns and this time I cannot see.

Dots in front of my eyes,

an elastic band around my mind,

iron clamps forcing my lungs closed

and I struggle to stand.

Inhaler have your inhaler

Somehow I walk to my home again.

I collapse into bed

and am not comforted by the blankets, by the warmth.

I am still cold.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

My sleep is restless

I tremble while I dream

and when I wake I am naive enough to hope that today, I will be well.