Grave Danger
“Can you pull this sickness out of me? I’ve detoxed my innards to the point of starvation. It’s the only way I know how to kill it, but I think this only weakened me. Always the healthiest bits of myself that die off first. I stink of rot. This disease begins in the brain. The gray matter that composes its tissues will consume itself. Ungulatin’ in discomfort, the brain shoots signals through the body like an unchecked cowboy. Down goes my nervous system by highnoon.My body can’t decide whether it's hot or cold. The warning for what’s to come rattles sweat down my spine. Meanwhile, blood jockeys through my veins to keep this heart from breaking. But it’s scarred, you see. So inflamed, it takes too much effort to beat rhythms strong enough to bruise my ribs. All to linger in this slow death.
My instincts lay intact, but the ichor in my skull drowns what sense I have left. My vision’s glazed over and sunken into sockets. I need you to cut this out of me. Start at the navel, a direct line to guts spoiled in bile. Squeeze them clean so I can start anew. These delusions will need a little room to breathe. I promise won’t be startled by the drill. I can’t even see it, let alone hear it. Cries blew my eardrums out long before you noticed I was decayin’.
I’m gettin’ tired, darlin’. Kiss me before the anesthetic takes hold. I may not survive this, but I held strong for you. You could see that, right? I went down fightin’. Guns blazin’. Howlin’ like a banshee. Would you please blow the smoke from my pistol? And be the one that puts pennies on my eyes if I’ve gone and lost the standoff? The warmth of your fingers will travel from them to me, and I will know you were always proud. And I was always loved.”Jul 1, 2025
#poem
#poetry
#vent
#cowboy
#western
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