Thursday 30 April 2009

Diseased

It took everything I could have been. It took me.

At university, It ate my brain. They listened politely
While I tried to explain, but everyone was a bit embarrassed
And surprised to recall
Ambulances in secondary school.
They want to push me into the black hole –
Psychiatry, who sucks in all that isn’t His,
And swarms like vultures to pick the flesh from my brains.

When I was little and nobody looked, He saw me
And was my companion.
A twinge here, a stab there, the odd collapse
Was not strange, it was what I knew.
Familiarity breeds – after all, Mars is home for Martians.

I was six when He hollowed me out and moved in;
I was too small for him, then.
Now I seem to contain Him, somehow
Nothing gets out, or at least
Nobody sees,
Just the peak of permanent pregnancy
That dwarves foothill breasts in profile;
Not the pressure that leaves my panting lungs
No space to inflate.

Anyway, as time went by, he moved up and broke
Into my skull and ate my brain,
Scooped big bear pawfuls, smacked His chops,
And left the bees in my head with the rest.

And he gave me, or did I give him?
My own little monstrous envy, oh how it must be
To be at home in a body; to have been me.
Now I live to serve his needs.

And they won’t see.
In science, bees can’t fly .
In 20 years, He’ll be a disease.
In 20 years, it’ll be too late for me.

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