Poem: Languidness – 16/01/20

 Languid, my arm flops and hangs from the mattress,
 I am but a mere weakened being 
 suffering my body’s wretched heat.
  
 My toes wriggle, it’s the most exercise 
 I’m able to perform,
 I am exhausted, and I’ve barely woken up.
  
 What is this ill health surrounding my body?
 a yellowing at the edges of an ancient book,
 curling me into an apostrophe, 
 into bedlam my innards are rearranging,
 my health it needs cleansing.
  
 I sleep for hours at a time,
 on and off, 
 the clock ticks with a decisive inertia 
 I cough and cough,
 but my lungs are still bloated and unclean.
  
 The pages turn into smithereens
 which I am made to breathe,
 the tainted yet immediately literary air 
 is now within my airways
 and is exploring my bloodstream.
  
 I smile to myself,
 languid though I am, 
 I reach for pen and paper
 scrawl for hours – 
 the ink is dragged along the modern parchment
 by my excitable left hand. 

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
 All images signed “LMH” 
 are copyrighted 2019-2020 by Lauren M. Hancock 
 and all rights reserved.

 Photo by twinsfisch on Unsplash   

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