Fibromyalgia
My body drinks in the harsh cold of winter
Setting my bones on fire
Hands ball up into blotched white fists
Suddenly and viciously
A message travels down
My over over sensitive nerves
Sending fingers shooting out
Dead straight
Rigor morticed with pain
Liquid churns hot in my spasming bowels
Limp sprinting to the bathroom
I watch through open legs
As blood drips into the toilet bowl
A crimson red rose blooms
Then slowly dissolves
I am a clockwork toy
Wound too tight
The obsessions I tidied away
Are coming out of their boxes
Quicker than a child’s presents at Christmas
- by Zara Carpenter
United Kingdom
