Rest Would Be Good

Eyes raw and burning the rims of sockets in a powdery skull. Red lids and prickly facial skin and bagging beneath once gleaming balls of ivory life surmounted by centre sapphires flecked with gold, and now resembling milky, pasty, mucky little orbs the colour of spit, sitting among blotchy skin of uneven colour and texture.

Eyes burn all day. And the itch persists. And eye drops don’t help as they ought.

Senses are dull, the brain slow. Thinking seems to have lead in the saddlebag.

Like a disc left on pause, all day.

A fog – hearing seems unclear, vision distorted by mist, smell gone, and imagination broken and in bits all over the floor.

It’s no fun to be tired.

The rest of the body doesn’t like it so much either.

My patience is stretched as far as it will go. I can tolerate very little. And it might not be long until throwing things is a very real option … if I can be bothered to bend over and pick something up, and then extend my arm with some force to complete the throw.

Perhaps I won’t throw things. Or thing.

Perhaps sleep would help.

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Published in: on March 23, 2011 at 7:17 pm  Leave a Comment  

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