insidious true stories…

wait your turn

i’m tasting oxycodone,
almost sour; closer still
to the scent of a waiting room
belonging to a orthopedic surgeon.
still some time to wait;
always time to wait.

my middle third is for shit,
constantly aching, stinging, burning,
some internal kettle pouring
battery acid down my left leg;
hard to laugh through that sensation,
but nothing is impossible.

some kinds of suffering benefit
sufferers; it ain’t pleasant, yet
at the end, we can become
something other than fools in pain;
fools in pain trying to change
the world; that kind of silly careerism.

instead, psychical benefits or
spiritual awareness is denied;
an experience worth nothing.
if it isn’t wasted time,
it’s certainly squandered.

all of this, same as knowing
broken tablets taste identical
to busted spines.
doctors revel in co-pays
of misery; when I tell them
how much it hurts, they reply
“of course it hurts!
busted discs,
scar tissue in the nerve canal,
nerves pushed against canla walls;
we’re more surprised it
doesn’t hurt more.”

quiet nights in this house
conceal creaking joints and
melting hips. pills won’t dull the pain,
instead sterilizing the mind
in distraction; every so often
the taste fades out and broken
parts of the body have their say;
true pain is exquisite.

usually, the taste comes back
easy; add another dose;
leaving just a question
of rationale for living in such
constant & worsening pain. truth
being told, i’m not sure there
is one.

i’m tasting oxycodone
all kinds of sour, closer still
to the scent of a waiting room
belonging to an orthopedic surgeon.
i’ve been waiting out here for just
over two years; now the lawyers
say “it’s gonna be a while still.
just relax, wait for your number
to be called.”
Dedicated to my fucking piece of shit spinal cord and another night trying to dull the pain. A massage would be great…. if it was an option.

2 Responses to “insidious true stories…”

  1. you are a realist’

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