Numbly resides this finger upon my hand,
No tingles nor sparkles light up the nerves,
Dead inside and they wonder where lies
The feeling, the sensations, now numbly
I made the choice and sensory darkness
Rules this fingertip, the tingles spreading
Back from beyond a periphery of experience
Down the arm, into the hand, bright pain
From five to zero, not intended, lest
Pains of sleep take over, fill the nerves
With horror and suffering, sold instead
Into duality wondrous and wild, aches
Subsumed by care and fuss, consumed.
Broken razors grow inside the hands
Like slow crawling nuclear fires let
Loose from harnessed stars a’glow
Like furnaces unleashed from time;
This darklight eaten without pause.
Hunger abated by this unexpected host
Though few may be able to tell such
For effects and outward appearance
Show little to demonstrate change.
Reduction and thought expansion leads
To the hunger slowing, drying, less
Than it once was, far less than dreams
Might have displayed, hoped for.
Contrary to prior beliefs not so
Terrible is the reduction, hunger
Slowed like epic glaciers trawling
The frozen oceans and a’shore crashing.
Today I write of a strange vitality, the harsh wonder of experience. I am running out of painkillers, in a manner I had not anticipated, and while on a family holiday.
Having misjudged my situation I now have 7 Tramadol remaining. Aching from various mental stresses the day before yesterday (yes, mental stuff becomes physically manifest) I attempted buying Cocodamol here in Portugal…but left with strong Ibuprofen instead. Turns out you need a prescription for Coco.
Now I am down to rations.
I had thought I was doing well. No Cocodamol for months now, days off the herbal painkiller Kratom, as well as reduced doses. I brought none of it with me this holiday. I still do not think doing so was a mistake but I did badly miscalculate my needs.
To try and remedy it I had an extra Prozac yesterday. I know, I know, it has longer term effects, but based on how much of the holiday is left I thought the extra Serotonin would help my many pains.
Wish me luck.
Let them try, seek what chinks they may
Find, yet know they not how empty lies
The shell when numbness is this high,
Riding strong, along the lines of faulty
Neither by casual request nor
Imperial order will it be ended,
Always present, ever alert for
A chance to shine, burn eternal.
Paramours may come and go, yet
Forever shall it shine on, burning
Thing without real tangible end
Or beginning to be fairly found.
What dares to fill the void?
Travelling caravan of nervous noise
Creeping over space, tenuous connection
Without end, a start poorly defined
Yet still no less the broad thing,
Creature of burning cold blossoms
Spreading along each line, blind.