unwell and sapped of energy
she was
as she draped herself
across cushions
and with blankets
picturing herself
a dickensian or austen-esque
maiden in distress
overcome by consumption
or somesuch untimely
but rather than breathing shallowly
because a corset gripped her bowels
she instead drew breath in a strange ostinato
between unseemly helps of pain
oh fuck
oh why
it’s just not fair
instead of wearing her pain in silence
her milky complexion paler than usual
the only tip-off to her condition
in this blanketed fortress of solitude
she sips ginger ale
in her boyfriend’s megadeth hoodie
and bemoans her demon-spawn
insides
as the content of the poem suggests, I was sick yesterday, boooo. still not right yet, but better enough to crank out a poem or two. as alexis mateo would say, BAM!
