The bruises chill against the floor
Heartless wood sticks to the flesh
That what doesn’t stick to sweat is wet
Damp with bile and blood
I do not know how long I have laid here
How long my eye had swelled black
How long my ribs ached with each breath
How long my legs refused to walk
There is no comfort here
No softness of blanket
No heat of kind touch
No decency of clothes
Just the wind and the floor
Both which hate my flesh
To shift is an agony, a pain that consumes all
I am sure things are broken
Things that cannot be repaired
I do not want to get back up
While the floor holds such pain and discomfort
To stand holds so much more
Will the pain fade when I make it to my feet?
Or will it rise with me, eager claws to bring me back down
With a vengeance, harder than before
Punishment for defying it
Will it fade as I reach the door, and fumble outside?
Will it fade as I beg for help from onlookers?
And will they help?
Or will they gawk at my form?
**** and emaciated, bruised and bloodied
Helpless
I do not want to get back up
But I can’t give myself the choice
Else I shall rot against the floor
And the chill will have won