Friday, July 25, 2008

When I think of myself dead.

July 1, 2008.

when I think of myself dead I think of frying pans.  when I think of myself dead I think of somebody making love to you when I'm not around.  when I think of myself dead I have trouble breathing.  when I think of myself dead I think I won't be able to drink water anymore.  when I think of myself dead all the air goes white.  the roaches in my kitchen will tremble.  and somebody will have to throw my clean and dirty underwear away.  -Bukowski.

emergency trips
are all the rage
in my life these days

woke at four am puking
my guts out
and losing every
drop of anything wet
from every inch of my

called the doctor and said, please,
help me,
I think I'm dying
I think I'm dead.

then I spent four hours hooked
to tubing that fed me
and I slept under the guise
of anti-nausea medication that made my head

my mother sat by my side and 
read poems
while I shifted 
trying to find a spot to lay where it didn't 
my stomach.

today is my sister's birthday
she's twenty nine
and thriving
and I ruined the day
instead of baking the cake
I spend the morning and afternoon obsessing
about food
and absorbed in my disease.

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