How It's Going To Be [Poetry]

bloodracer

bloodracer

march1twenty22

I can't count anymore. I used to keep track with post times and fault lines, but now time blurs and falls away.

and when you ask me how I feel I want to tell you how my blood itself is screaming with no mouth, no voice. how I wish to string up vocal cords so that the vessels could exhaust themselves, so that I can finally sleep soundly.

my own vocal cords are damaged and clogged, but that is nothing new. my collection of arteries, veins, and capillaries which allow my body to continue functioning are not as tired as the rest of me is. they demand justice with no mouth. it's devastating how few mouths there are.

it's a lose-lose-lose no matter what I do. sacrifice one thing for another - it's impossible to have both. thanks to prioritizing the battles waging in my throat and stomach, my brain is Play-Doh shaped like clouds, chunks disappearing by the day. no sleep all pain.

I'm not where I wanted to be a year ago, much less a month ago. time is hoping things will improve with enough bedrest, with enough daily medication. but so far it is just a lie.

it's all futile. I guess I need to see more doctors