Pammy's World

Exploring the World Around Me

Powerless

I can feel it
A burn
An itch
Just under my watch band
The thud of a pulse waiting to bleed
A voice in my head saying
Set yourself
Cut
And set yourself free

They don’t know I’m already dead
Just a lost soul tripping through this purgatory called life
A whisper on the wind
A shrinking violet in the harsh sun
Shriveling and desiccating to nothingness
A wilting summer rose in the fall left with only spiny pinpricks
A forgotten memory of a happier time
Cynical, cold, envious
Hateful
Enraged
Powerless

Original Poetry by ©2014 Pamela N. Brown

IMG_0703.JPG

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.”

~ Robin Williams

Gravity

It’s too late now. Gravity has begun pulling at my bones, twisting and tearing at muscles and tendons, stretching them until they feel as if they will split. Sinew creaks and groans with every movement, sounding like old leather preparing for that eminent snap. Skin has begun to sag, wrinkle, and dry to an ashen pallor. A ruddy undertone, which darkens the freckling and birthmarks, fights its way through the snow white film cracking and peeling at the surface. The fissures in each heel have grown painful, rough, corse, and no amount of potions, oils, balms, tonics, emollients, or lotions can fill the crevices to heal the burn of air brushing against tips of nerves. Nails of fingertips and toes thicken, flake, rip, and tear despite careful manicures and clippings.

The right leg has begun to pull to the right as steps are made from one place to another. The mass of the flesh, tissue, and bone hinder the use of the hip, and muscles alone cannot lift the dangling meat below. With every misstep, with every pop of the joint in the socket, the raw nerves shoot pains to the ankle and into the bow of my back. Limping has become a daily routine, and often dragging the foot behind me is all I can manage. Muscles shiver and shake until all control is lost and the body tumbles to the ground. The weight of the fleshing piling upon flesh brings about thick purple and green knots upon the surface of the skin. At times, the use of arms is non-existent, as the shuddering has taken over and the heaviness of a simple writing utensil resembles that of a ten pound barbell. The heft of my bulk presses into my lungs and throat closing off oxygen leaving me gasping for a breath.

The right shoulder aches from day to day. A constant dull throb deep within between the blades of my shoulders is seldom acknowledged, as the hump on my back has continued to grow in width, girth, and height, stretching the skin. The stabbing pulsations are with me every minute of every hour of every day. Muscles pull at tender, raw nerves that wrap around my skull and into the tissue of the brain, drawing gasps. Gravity presses down on me building pressure behind my right eye. Every sliver of light sneaking through eyelids increases the throbbing in within my skull, builds the pressure behind my eye that draws the sensation that the swollen orb will explode from the socket. The spasms bounce on my nerves that reach deep within my gut, causing a swirling within the recesses of my stomach. I fight to hold down the bubbling bile creeping up my esophagus. I twist my body into my blankets like a cocoon with my curtains pulled tight shutting the brilliant light of day and busy world outside. Every minute noise of the outside world echos within my ears, dancing upon the nerves until amplified to a deafening roar.

The dark spot in the center of my left eye is growing, impeding my vision and pulling at my right. Vision often fractures into a crystalized rainbow through which only color is recognizable. The ringing in my right ear has intensified over the years to a constant and steady chiming that haunts my every waking moment until the time comes that the ringing stops but taking with it every sound of the world around me. For minutes and sometimes hours, tones escape me until the ringing returns only to become a magnified reverberation. I strain to hear words spoken softly or sounds that drift upon the air around me, seldom able to make out the conversations resonating around me.

Though this is my life, I still force myself to wake from the sweet slumber in which I can escape all suffering. I still roll from my warm cocoon and unleash my battered body unto the world. I still find happiness and beauty through all of the pain.

“The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.”

~ Edgar Allan Poe

Happy pi day. Did you know that a year from now will be the most true pi day for 100 years?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 738 other followers