Medication blues - gratuitous poetry

A little syringe waits for me,

Such a little thing,

So innocuous,

But it looms in my mind,

Menaces quietly from the cupboard,

Snickers at my headache,

Offers more queasy for my troubled gut,

Requires that I choose the hard path.

I know there is no malice in it,

Not truly,

But still it is my hands that must load it,

Inject it,

Inflict it,

Find hope beyond dread,

And choose the hard path.

There are no promises here,

Only hanging on

And hope.

2 Replies

  • Another gem. So we, at least, benefit from your pain. Gosh that sounds like schadenfreude, but I trust you know what I mean!

    Off to the coast for a few days, so you may not hear from me. On the other hand ...

    Norming! Jo x

  • *chuckling* I'm glad you like it. Enjoy the coast for me, I'm probably bound for the couch for a few days, which is less scenic but does include free movies. Afternorning! xx Bat

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