Silken Flu Bomb

During an episode with the flu a few weeks back I discovered that my brain believes my body is a ticking time bomb made from my organs and sheets.

Rising, surviving; day by day seeking the light

Breathing in and out, overwhelmed by emotion

Sleep, rest, no light in the coal black of the darkness

Awakening to discomfort overwhelmed by an ocean

Sickness… driving, creeping inwards, exhaustion puddles

Bodily fluids draining every twenty minutes

Flu symptoms- driving expelling till dehydration reigns supreme

Screaming, moaning until there is only the raging seconds

Curled up- too hot.. too cold- inability to defeat raging fever

Broth to soothe an aching throat- rejected by a queasy stomach

Coughing so loud as liquids rise up knocking in throat

Expelled for hours, exhaustion claims, wishing from this distress to be unstuck

Hours pass, tea saves a stomachs sore muscles calming internally

Late night insomnia aching muscles cover completely combined with migraine

Horror, pain exhaustion, break a sleeping pill, pray it helps

Three in the morning insanity wishing to die, and break this strain

Cursing the world, cursing self, whimpering at slightest movement

Time drifts along, six o’clock appears, sleep finally overwhelms

Twenty minutes in fever dreams, ticking human bomb

Back and forth wakefulness and sleep, visiting a new land of hell realms

Twisting body inside out, ripping organs tied with bed sheets into position

Image twisters into human bomb from organs and sheets; heart outlined

Government testing determining what makes this figure tick

Countdown begins, twisting and categorizing for others who defined

Components for a bomb laid out in rows, flesh peeled back

Hours pass crisscrossing in agony wires of synapses scream

Waking in pain, throbbing head, stomach ache, muscles stretched in horror

Government agents still haunt poking and prodding; one for the team

Twisted figure in dreamlands, incapable of moving, yet reminders do show

Tis not reality, except for overwhelming pain, another forgotten goodbye

Cursing the heavens change, none to blame, merely a fever flue strain

Stains of thought lines beckon but it appears that in this only sanity does die

 

 

Reviews

[Fabric Pulse]

I LOVE this title.