fuzzy image

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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