Posts Tagged ‘medical’

A novel new blight has arisen,
It is upon the tongues of all,
With the same frequency as hellos and farewells,
The covid virus,
The new political and media months flavour,
An ailment embellished,
Despite its lethal effects,

The initial symptom being a destruction of all sense,
Eagerly followed by the choking of the weak,
Indeed let it be known it is a foul affliction,
Lives shattered and irrevocably altered,
Not purely by this virus itself,
But by legislative hammers of feeble men,
Flaccid controls in the guise of genius,

It has taken over,
But what of the others?
Those recieved of other illnesses,
Cancers and strokes and fractures and derangement,
They are skipped over,
Verily banished from the facilities meant to aid them,
Sent to form morgues within their hovels,

Souls perish every hour to these curses,
But the darling of the elite takes the stage,
The pundits preach fear overblown,
Fear the covid,
There is only covid,
But I ask of you,
Does covid matter more than all other ills?

Somethings in my head,
A beastly array of pains and throes,
I can feel it clawing at the walls,
And all the pain that entails,
I know not what is in there,

A bloody drum kit played by an ogre,
Or a cat with too many legs,
A stack of plates like the tower of pisa,
Or a feverish jazz band,
A penance forced on to my brain,

It hurts,
Pangs like bolts through the veins,
I grow weary of it,
The only question upon my lips,
When will it dissipate and give me rest?

A car savaged me,
Its radiator like sharks teeth,
It took my leg unapologetically,
Churned it right up,
Red mist and bone fragments,
Gnashing going gone,

Late at night,
When the memory of that car returns,
Like a hunter in the periphery,
Laying in my abode,
The pangs return,
With no method to sate them,

My leg is now a ghost,
A screaming phantom,
Naught but a flaccid stump,
With but a memory of flesh,
It shrieks into the night,
With syllables of itching agony,

My limb is a disaster zone,
Laid to waste by a steel tornado,
A constant reminder of that beast,
A grave site,
With an epitaph,
Etched in constant painful emptiness.

I have a tumour,
I feel it pulsing within my skull,
A neoplasmic fiend,
A frankenstein creation of my own heart,
My cells joining its unholy legion,

I know from whence it came,
I breathed in those cancerous cells,
They breached my lips,
On a vessel of her red lipstick,
Her nightly ritual,

She drew me in,
Like a spider playing a violin,
A trap of an embrace,
A witch in white gown lingerie,
Obsessive oncology,

This amorous disease ravaged my form,
Playing jukebox romance ad infinitum,
My humours sent into spasms,
My virtues turned askew,
Blurred eyes,

I ought to be alone,
Give me a bottle of amber,
My own radiation therapy,
I’m unclear of the prognosis,
But this love is cancer.

Not so happy?
We have a fix for that,
Allow me to put on my apron,
Forgive the blood,
This is a messy procedure,

Your face shall become artwork,
A scalpel sculpture,
An ideal incision,
Ear to ear,
A grin born of cruor,

You’ll be the talk of the town,
No more sorrow,
No more tears,
Extracting that bad mood,
The agony just means it’s working,

Why are you screaming?
You look so happy now,
You won’t be laughing,
But you’ll be smiling until the end of days,
Even within your grave,

Now that grin shall never dissipate.

I’ve been fractured,
By lifes accident,
An impact of herculean force,
Bones splintered here and about,
Comminuted breaks all over,

Limbs are out of place,
A friend insisted on an x-ray,
I appear disjointed and hurt,
Without flesh and a heart,
I somehow looked more human,

This injury,
It has become as familiar,
As the blood that clots,
My bone marrow is ruptured,
Prey to the elements,

It’ll take more than a doting suture,
A cast of soft words,
Or an eternity of bed rest,
To restore me to my former self,
To heal.