Defining Sick

Lying in bed, staring at the far wall

Murmuring stories quietly like a patient.

Can’t stay awake and can’t manage to sleep

Watching over the wooly backs of sheep

 

And you may remember me when I was

Taller than I was on the inside, brighter

Than the brightest memory you can muster

And yet I can’t gain my breath in the dark

 

I showed you proudly, running along my skin,

The little wolves like ancestors, retainers, reminding

Me to take it day by day, to stay alive, and inside

I knew that the wolves weren’t for you

 

But I lay nestled with a dragon that hushes

All the nervous whimpers pouring from my lips.

Ever alive, but fearful that I myself may die

And I try to reassure them that it’s alright; I’m fine

 

And I’ll play with the tinges of pain like memories

And tell you that the blood on my heart wasn’t left

Thereby a careless undertaker, but by a genie with

Careful hands that tear the callers and collars apart

 

I know that this pain will surely pass because imagining

That it won’t, that the morning light won’t show

on a waking wolf scares me more than death, knowing

The rest won’t know what I’ve known all along

 

Author's Note

This is an older poem and I have no qualms with how it's reviewed. I just wanted to test the editing, but would love to get feedback as well.