It begins as a
symptom of disease
(a sudden dryness in your mouth
and you squeeze your heart with
an incredulous fist)
Slowly, your mind clouds over,
butterscotch taffy spun
into endless strings of gold;
You think you've mastered the
Midas touch -- except
all you've really done is to
give yourself a next generation
of cavities and a blackhole of
debiltating shame.
Nobody asks for it --
just a smile or swing of her hair
or a careless arm flung
across another's shoulder --
that's enough to creep up
and eat you inside out.
Like a glass splinter worked into
your heart, bit by painful bit.
This is a bone-hurt. Not just
a hurt in the heart or a throbbing
in the head. But a true-blue,
bees-knees sort-of bone-hurt.
It rushes up the tiny fissures in the bones,
and expands like a belligerent Gloop,
until your bones explode
into a firework of splinter and dust.
This is a bone-hurt. It gets under
your skin and fills you up and rips
you apart from inside.
And it begins
as a symptom of disease.
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Written when I was nursing a 39 degree fever and endless dribbling snot.