On My Recent Illness
by John Ahlschwede
 
Aluminum scraps my skin, drawing blood. 
I tear at myself, in hatred, rage and pain. 
My liver hits the ground with a sickening thud. 
I'd prefer these observations, if I were insane. 

But sane I am, and that is my great boon. 
Madness would be an escape from this hell. 
My mind traps me like a worm in a spitoon 
to witness this disease work my mortal shell. 

I fall to the ground, and it's getting hard to see. 
The nurse helps me up, she treats me like a loon. 
Oh, I hated that damned card that you sent me. 
Imagine the irony of "get well soon."
 
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