Poetry

The Plague

It started on the right
Always on the right
Right in the middle
The middle of my back.

It spun around
Bigger and bigger
A black hole
In the middle of my back.

Then came the bump
A tiny, hard bump
Under the skin
And muscles in my neck.

It shot up
Like a bullet
Shocking and quick
Up to my skull
From that bump in my neck.

The bullet explodes
It becomes a bolt of lightening
Directly on the right
Right there in my skull
Behind the eyeball
On my right.

The bolt has arms
Its pulling and tugging
Its ripping through my brain
Sending waves of red
Spilling into my head.

The bump in my neck
Sends a message to my brain
Tells it to be sick
Vomit out the pain.
My brain responds back
Anxious and afraid
Accidentally telling my heart
To prepare for an attack.

The black hole in my back
Spins bigger with each throb
The throbbing subsides
And with that is born
A blade
Slicing downwards so fast
That it’s numb
Slicing the right
Into a spasm
Right down that notch
Sciatic nerve.

It started on the right
Never on the left
And it never left.

It’s black and endless
Sucking my soul
It’s red and murderous
Spilling over and under
Into wounds
Creating wounds
No one can see.