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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2308736-Drift
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2308736
What it feels like to come out of a grand-mal seizure; the disorientation is crazy.
thoughts twirl away
tiptoe through my fingers
lost in this darkness.
                             Where has the world gone?
nothing to see.
scream from the shadows –
I don’t know this voice.
                             Where am I?
the room shakes
like when we drove down
rock-laden roads in New York.
                             Is that where I am?
She begs me back
whispers slice through
the dark fog that fills my mind.
                             What’s happened?
daylight’s pike impales my skull
two strangers toss questions –
dust on the spring breeze.
                             I don’t care.
my stomach whirls
devil’s dance, sour steps
taste their turn upon my tongue.
                             It’s stopped.
wave both strangers to the door
medic bags at their sides, they
leave this broken prize behind.
                             They don’t understand.
befouled, stench-clad teeth set
push bruised limbs from unkind floor
to bed, where sleep may yet refuse me.
                             It’s my fault.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2308736-Drift