Fears and Hospitals

I've been developing a fascination with words used to describe harm or violence, often used out of that context. This poem is about a kind of loss, which I am simultaneously clueless about and quite familiar with. I can't really explain it, and judging from what I've written here, I hope I don't have to experience any time soon, because I'm clearly ill prepared for it. Also, please forgive my chaotic punctuation, I've never really gotten the hang of properly punctuating poetry. I'll work on that.

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Fears and Hospitals

All these afflictions

from a list, laundry-like

expressed clinically

and dispassionate

Dry

like my eyes

in stark contrast to yours

But my sleep's been stretched

thin, full of holes

or artificial and stupor-like

the product of sleep aids and alcohol

in stark contrast to yours

comatose

until moments ago

Now I know what fountain

this feeling springs from

that twists tendrils

round my ankles and shoots

chills charging past my shins

fills my throat with water

I can breathe but I can't swallow

like your swollen and tender

will not allow

your chest and it's broken

ragged breaths

and how you shake from the

searing and shooting

to draw them

I'll never see again

thesameform thesamegrace thesameshape

never curl myself around those

shattered clavicles

serpentine 

ohgod

what if I wake

all twisted in dreams

and can't bear to leave my bed

and you're not there to temper me?

ohgodohgod

Our eyes are 

temporarily the same

when they talk about 

just how so very long

they expect before you'll walk again

and I have to leave the room

ohgodohgodohgod

And all I can think of is

how I need a drink 'cause

I can't deal with this

and where are my meds

and I'm not all here

and if bones are your problem

you can have mine I don't need them

cut bits of my ribs or my shins or my spine

my fingers take my fingers

I'll hold the scissors

ohgodohgodohgodohgod

I'm just bits

and parts and pieces

connected by tissues

and tendons

and creases

and without you that's all I can be

I don't need the sum of my parts

I need you, goddamnit

But all this wild-eyed fear

I plant beneath the surface

because the last thing you need

is my typical breathless

wandering chaotic

thought trains and panics

I'll summon strength for you

if I can manage

and squeeze your sweet fingers

undamaged

and say

"Baby, can I get you a sandwich?"

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There you have it, post number twenty-five. (approach with trepidation)