Saturday, 31 October 2015

Falling Down

Crouched in beanbags sewn by hand
Tears streak red faces
A friend’s death is deadlier than
The deaths of strangers
Strangely so

Beauty standards of high order
Falling victim  
Dear life-threatening procedure
Comfort our mothers with arms too large
Hanging loosely
Around bending backs
Hollow like old trees
A hundred years old

Swallow wisely a medical consultation
Predominantly in silence
What seems like hours
Are minutes of torture
Solutions to rid sickness
Of barbaric authority

My mother would complain
Like once the child
I was
Complaining to her
A whole person split in half
Falling off stairs
And seeking treatment bounded elsewhere

Surgery overseas
Hesitation to flee the four walls
Of familiar territory
A prisoner in denial 
Of their own entrapment

Not a single shred attached
Of the former self
A body failing all of its sense
It hardly makes sense
To suffer downfall