Brain on Fire

A Poem by phoebe wells

to live with a voice that is not your own, a lonely existence

My throat hurts,
And I’m afraid if I open my left eye,
It will somehow make my ears bleed.
I don’t feel anything at all,
But my throat hurts.

Perhaps it’s due to the pain we leave,
But do not recognize.
I recall this,
But I’m scared if I move from this small couch,
I’ll trip.

I’d hate to hurt my ankle,
It would be such an inconvenience�"
A hospital trip.
They are always so loud, and one must wait for hours:
IV, BP, O2.

It’s just an ankle,
Surely, a trip wouldn’t require such,
But I’m afraid,
Terrified.
That if I leave this couch, I may trip.

Would they give me a candy?
A token for the pain?
This is childish.
You’re addressing your emotions�"
Lay down the pen.

I’m just being honest.
You’re being self-destructive.
But I’m afraid,
I’ll probably stay
On this couch.

Midnight?
Adjust your schedule.
I fear we aren’t leaving.
It’s not your fear,
It is your mind.

© 2025 phoebe wells

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Reviews

Glen Weimann

Quite a striking poem Phoebe. I especially like the almost staccato aspects around the quite abrupt closing lines of each verse. I also get the sense of a dialogue between 'you' and 'your mind' although I'm not sure those terms are quite there, and nor could I say for sure whose lines are whose; all of which seemed entirely as it would be and is! There's something that I as a reader could extend into from this kind of internal conversation, and that is the scary world of panic attacks, of thinking oneself into a world of deep dark fears. You don't go there, and I'm glad of that, but perhaps unwittingly your words may lead some readers that way. Many thanks for posting! 'Glen'