Thursday, 18 October 2012
THOMAS GUY HOUSE
So then i'm on the train.
From routing round the parents suburban home for money when the call came.
The surgeon for me?
But i'm not supposed to be here?
God works his magic somehow.
They have a bed.
And my arteries are to be fixed
My drowning is to be stopped.
The internal bleeding
after i've been killing myself the past 72.
Trying to die for the pain i've created for everyone.for years forever.
i hold myself on this train.
I am white and nothing
the light on my face doesn't touch me.
I can't speak
i speak my name,i am here.
I am as light a a feather.
And then they are jamming the drip into my hand.
Crunching on tendon.
Pain and real and blood sprays out.
Old as a fucking shipwreck.
Trudging to my bed.Hospital bed,White and clean.
And all that horror that surrounds me doesn't touch the void.