Painkillers intended to numb the pain
But they numb the heart from beating.

Administered to the ill and injured
Resulting in worse illness or injury.

An injury to the heart beat
To the collapsing lungs,
The vital components of life.

Without the medications,
The symptoms return
Full-fledged.

But with them, the ability
To function normally
Is absent.

The question at hand is
Whether it is better to suffer
From pain or numbness.

At eight years old
I saw my mum grow down

At nine years old
I witnessed her in hospital

At ten years old
She forgot my birthday

At eleven
I could not comprehend or fathom
The words to express
How I feel

I watched my mum blossom
Only to wilt

I could fix a summer draught
With the tears I refuse to cry

At seventeen years old
I still cannot gather those words

Two weeks ago I got in an accident while mountain biking. I broke my collar bone and fractured my sternum. Abrasions covered my back, my hip had a puncture wound that turned into a hematoma and was swollen 2inches (I couldn't wear pants for a full week). I hit the ground with such force that air was forced out of my lungs and into the sack around my heart. I spent 18 hours in the ICU and three more days in the hospital after.

A long time ago I crashed. I crashed after you left. My ribs were caving in and making it hurt to breath, my cheeks burned, I swore to god my heart was never going to be okay again. The pain in my chest was incredible. The worst pain I have ever felt was when you left.

I flew over my handle bars two weeks ago and rolled down the mountain and still your absence hurts me more.

This summer is going to be amazing.
After the terrible year I've had,
The terrible mistakes I've made,
The money wasted and the guilt
Earned. It's going to be something
To remember forever.

"You're always moving forward.
Just sometimes, the road gets bumpy as ****."
The road may get bumpy,
but I'm ever so clumsy.
Give me a spotter
otherwise I may break
something along the way.
I'm not saying I need to be saved,
I just need someone
to make sure I'm okay.

Onward, we travel, eyes shielded by off-white --
optimism. The blind lead the blind. Around our feet
the decrepit lie unseen. The blinded lose their sense
and the sound of weeping is kept in the blacks
and deepest greys, swallowed by relentless light.

Limbs drag against gravel, knuckles
******, leaving trails. We stoop in our agony,
ankles twisted like corkscrews. Still we persevere.
It is our hope that should we press on,
the pain will be rewarded. We are
consumed by instinct – survive.

We suffer most as we ignore the sting of existence.
We try to ignore the inevitability of death as we strive
again towards our prayers of a golden, personal prize.
We need salvation in the form of shelter
from the rain of sickened green and haze
that has stolen our sight.

People keep asking me how I’m doing.
If I’m getting better or if I’ve taken the time to process what’s happened.
If I’ve sought professional help for the metal percussions induced by my career-ending injury.

In all honesty though, professional help is futile. It can’t save me now.
I’m walking through hell and sitting in a ring of fire discussing the temperature of the searing flames would be idiotic.

Why would I allow the flames to dance along my already seared skin longer than necessary?
I know they’re hot.
I know I’m in hell.

I know the pain I feel every day is real and crippling.

Talking about this pain wouldn’t end it. It wouldn’t diminish the heat. It wouldn’t help.

I need to keep walking.
I just need to keep walking.

My crippled body can’t run anymore, but I’ve got to keep walking.

Others continue to rush by. Frantic because they’ve never felt the flames.
They aren’t familiar with the burn. The idea of being in hell is novel.

They are novices.  

But life hasn’t been kind to me.
These flames are familiar with every curve of my body and they dance around with trained feet.


I’ve been in hell for years.


People continue suggesting I find the light at the end of the tunnel, but that’s near impossible here.
I’m too blinded by the brightness of a vehement flame.
Sizzling with an angry vigor for the lack of gratitude I bestowed on my past life.

It mocks the speed at which I used to be able to run. It laps sardonically at the feet that used to run cheer-inducing speeds without thanks from their owner.

But crowds don’t cheer my name anymore.
I now stand on the sidelines and watch my team play.

I burn alive for the game I used to breath and as I watch each and every game, the deep breaths of oxygen only continue alighting the fire.

There’s no way out it seems, but I will try to keep walking.


Because talking is futile.



Note:
Spinal diseases are crippling mentally and physically. Watching the body you've sculpted for years turn to mush because you can't workout is dilapidating .
The despair and helplessness are unfamiliar feelings, feelings that can't be overcome. Disease is disease and sometimes it can't be stopped. Sometimes, it just becomes a burden to bear.


And sometimes people aren't strong enough.

It's different when careers end after four years of college. An expected end, an anticipated end. But when things you love are taken from you abruptly, before your finished. The pain is exponentially worse.

Exponentially. Worse.

Tie me in knots
     and drag your nails through my flesh.
Tear me open
     until orchids bloom from every laceration.
Take everything you want;
     only I ask that you put me back together again,
and trim the flowers back below my skin.