Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Almost like clockwork, the bone breaks. This time, an arm, a warning against the things that hands can do. Cut it off not at the disease, but at the root. We hope, this time, that we were quick enough in the amputation. That the disease has spread no further than the floor upon which the phantom limb jerks. Last time, it was slow, an infestation below the muscle until the patient was screaming for morphine. We had to cut the lower leg first, but the thigh was already prisoner. The neuroscience department has been working overtime on all the brains we lobotomised before removal. We’re thinking that’s where it ruminates, dormant, like a volcano. The infection manifests differently in everyone. In some, it cries for attention, and we cut the throat. In others, it’s violence, and it ends up killing itself. There’s not much we know and even less we can name. When they brought my body in, they called it loneliness, and cut out my heart. The wolves ate well that night.
0
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC
Bone
Almost like clockwork, the bone breaks. This time, an arm, a warning against the things that hands can do. Cut it off not at the disease, but at the root. We hope, this time, that we were quick enough in the amputation. That the disease has spread no further than the floor upon which the phantom limb jerks. Last time, it was slow, an infestation below the muscle until the patient was screaming for morphine. We had to cut the lower leg first, but the thigh was already prisoner. The neuroscience department has been working overtime on all the brains we lobotomised before removal. We’re thinking that’s where it ruminates, dormant, like a volcano. The infection manifests differently in everyone. In some, it cries for attention, and we cut the throat. In others, it’s violence, and it ends up killing itself. There’s not much we know and even less we can name. When they brought my body in, they called it loneliness, and cut out my heart. The wolves ate well that night.
From a portfolio I wrote in third year of university, titled 'Infestation'.
gk29003
Written by
23/Transmasculine/UK
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 8:46 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem