#kidney
I enter the room of impending doom,
The ghosts of tomorrow litter the room,
Their faces are sullen and showcasing gloom,
They're also tormented by life's weaving loom,
The nurse measures my weight,
I am nothing but cattle,
I've lost all my dignity thanks to this battle,
The chair that they sit me in,
Lucifer's saddle,
If this seat could talk it would certainly tattle,
The lines in my chest that connect to the heart,
They're cleaned and hooked up,
The machine gives a start,
In tubes my blood flows through vampiric contraptions,
For three hours I'm lying, devoid of all actions,
Migraines afflict me,
I'm filled with fatigue,
This procedure is torture and not for the meek,
I pray for a transplant,
An end to my hell,
I despise the direction my thoughts tend to dwell,
They are dark,
Unsavory,
Not fit for oration,
And always lead back to my life's quick cessation.
May 2
May 2, 2026 at 12:24 PM UTC
I'm not sick
but I'm bleeding just the same
I'm not forgotten
but I can't remember my name
I carry a bag of stones
taken from my kidney in claim
I look down on my feet
no feet but guns and they take aim
I look up at the sky
no sky but tree crowns so dense
in front of me, as far as eyes can see
are waves and they build a fence
Faces from within look at me confused
muffled voices tell me I shall be reduced
Just me, my guns and my kidney stones
but I refused
I fell into a pit that looked like my face
They made me swallow my stones
Waking up inside a maze
I think these are my bones
Am I dead
or just insane
my guns are wet
is it all in vain
I regurgitate the stones they fed
spit out blood, the taste got plain
The maze of bones stands aflame
I dry in the heat
I hear a click, my feet to blame
I look down and pang!, I smell burning meat
I open my eyes, push through the frame
only a dream, I'm on the edge of my seat
Looking in the mirror, I fear this isn't the end of this game
I see the bag of stones and my reflection says "repeat".
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
More than any other food item,
Rajma chaawal can brighten my day up,
Bring back to my lips a lost smile,
Kidney beans is rajma and rice is the chaawal.
A different flavour tickles my taste buds,
Divine is this taste vegetarian,
Few are not so lucky to have tasted it ever,
It should be declared the national food of the kitchen north Indian.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:58 AM UTC
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.
Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.
So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
A year and a half ago I was good a year and a half ago I was fine a year and a half ago I was in my prime a year and a half ago I was not thinking about dying but I guess everything change when a disease barge threw the door of your life and you start thinking will I live or die but I hiding the pain in my eyes as I look back at my life before all this I can just sit back and cry before the needle before the pain **** I guess after dialysis nothing will be the same
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC