I wrote a new poem, just this afternoon.
My life is full of pain.
This could be a choice.
I'm not quite sure -- I wake up sick
in the morning, nauseated by all the light.
My feet leaving the mattress
for the floor gives me shooting pains
I could be a hypochondriac.
I'll have to ask my doctor,
but she stopped returning my calls last month.
She said it was getting too intense
all that blood and exchange of bodily fluids.
She had a thing for latex.
I think that shows a fear of intimacy.
We only kissed twice the whole time
we were together.
Anyway, it's over now.
She won't even renew my prescription
And I'm left with this migraine
and an unnatural swelling behind my left ear.
My skin, it tingles
sometimes, along my fingertips.
I'm sure it's the precursor
to some sort of paralysis.
And the light, ah,
It scalds my eyes.
Makes them tear constantly.
This can't be normal.
Tell me, this can't be