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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195976
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2195976
Composed in late 2011 sometime after my burst appendix and discharge from the hospital.
It is dark and night outside my window,
and in the soundless, lit confines of my
room I sit at my old, ivory desk

cheerless

and anxious with dread for what the rest
of another night may bring.

My ostomy bag, an abhorrent creature that
hugs precariously on one side of my abdomen,
covers my raw and fleshy stoma underneath.

Against my desire, the stoma continually oozes 
feces and waste

like a sewer into the ostomy bag, which,
every seven days or so ruptures its seal
and transforms into

a stinking and rancid cabbage

whose fetid odor refuses to stop emanating
until the entire, offensive beast is immediately
uprooted from my body.

So, I sit at my ancient, ivory desk, writing
these cherry-picked words to express

the anxiety and the doldrums
of another night; 

and the lonely, isolating, embarrassing, humiliating,
ego-wiping, self-esteem killing, mind-numbing,
soul-shattering, universal, all-embracing,
omni-present

stench

that weekly offends my nostrils and fills my lungs
because of a thoroughly used-up ostomy bag that
needs to be removed immediately

like an old, decaying vegetable
that has outlived its
freshness—

It is another cheerless night in the same, old
cheerless space:

the nose-blistering smell, however, is only for
another night....
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2195976