Pre DX, Post DX

Mike Bell/ March 8, 2016/ 0 comments

Lengthened pain, off the easy-measure,
searing hot-rods, new displeasure,
found in both hands, and stiffened wrist,
holding tight – cruel-spiked insist.

A constant enemy, without a doubt,
clawing within, more than out:
No drug-fuel fix of medication,
You almost embrace life’s abjuration.

Add the bloody tremored-creep,
nervous, shaken, rattled to sleep;
burrowed, nudging, shuffling-fears,
disturb, unsweet, dreaming-seers.

Sleep reminded you: ‘Do not rest,
wake up,’ it said, beneath bad breath,
coursing through your earthworm-veins,
and taunting with: ‘Get a grip again!’

Without diagnosis your body was cruel,
quaking, shaking, playing the fool:
Then, re-labelled, as ‘progressiveness’,
You knew much more, but understood less.

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