I.B.S.

Awake again.
The candle lit.
Vanilla smells cry at my brain.
Guts jitter, and flit.
Pain, and pressure.
Devoid of all pleasure.
Awake again.

I ache for sleep,
and rest and peace.
I just want this to cease.
To stop,
for the blood taste,
the gorged face,
the shivers and sweats,
to become rest.
For this endless thirst,
this life long curse to be lifted.
For my path to be shifted.
For my bowels to flow,
in smooth regular pulses,
like a dream machine,
of calm purity,
the lubricated perfect equilibrium
of soft relaxation.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.