Friday, August 25, 2006


The pain has become
more stabbing lately,
localised and sharp
when for months, maybe years,
it was an indistinct disquiet,
but this summer drew long
and the winter
was longer than the autumn,
a gradual weakening,
and narrowing of my confinement,
reached out to snatch away
distractions, my palliatives,
I stopped looking in the mirror
when the gauntness got the better of me,
now I can’t even get to the mirror,
so I’ve stopped wondering
what my face looks like,
I’m left with how I feel
which is everywhere hurts,
what I can see of my body,
beneath the bed clothes,
resting on me like a dead weight,
is something that no longer
reminds me of me,
it’s a strangers body not mine,
my tattoos, that I used to be so proud of,
are wrinkled stains, indecipherable on my arms,
my mind, my memory is becoming like that too
and much as I’d like it to stay,
it’s packing it’s bags and leaving.


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