How does one fight against the nature of their broken body? In all battles, there is both blood and flesh; for it is against these one must fight. Can one win a fight against their own vessel? When its brokenness is its strength? It gains by its own demise. Self destruction is the ultimate goal. All of life contradicts it for it calls upon death ever so closely. Each day, an older, weaker, more brittle state approaches. Each night presents the horror of an endless dream. A dream from which you can not wake.
An attempt to feel alive becomes the moment that the flesh refuses the soul. The only weapon against this is time; for it is a slow demolition project on the body. Paring limbs from torso and hips. Taking feet and fingers leaving behind fear in their place.
Meanwhile, the soul feels more pain than the incessant syringes produce upon the skin. Marks on the surface leave behind the spelling of a life saving stab wound. A user for life is the sentence. Defined by the organs.
Drugged, drowsy, drained and dwindled disease disease disease Diabetes.
-
Author:
Leya Virago (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 27th, 2019 23:07
- Comment from author about the poem: TYPE ONE DIABADASS
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
Offline)
Comments1
I feel for you, Duenna Leya. I have had 21 years of type 1 diabetes which make a mockery of tryin to live a normal life. I have chronic pancreatitis and frequently end up in hospital for a week or two. I have wasted so much of my time trying to protect myself against the demise of my sickening body. I am now down to just under 9 stone since a year ago when I was always 12 stone throughout my life. You wrote an emotional poem which caught my heart. I wish you well together hand in hand to beat this aweful desease. Good luck at hitting your goals...
Thank you for comments sorry to hear of your struggle friend. Thanks for the read and the comment.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.