Poem: Rich Blood – 06/02/20

Blood pumps through my veins,
potent, rich, disastrous,
cells which slip and slide,
speaking of a invasive nature that is hereditary.
 
The mishaps which befit my existence were
invisible to begin with,
then with coercion,
coaxing,
they came forth.

The personality changes,
the heights the lows,
the outstanding misunderstandings,
 
the delusory nature of my illness,
it startles,
the non-stop talk,
the mania,
the lack of self-control,
the coping devices.
 
But those days, hopefully,
those relapses are behind me
and all I need to maintain
is my health,
an understanding that I must be both vigilant and alert.
 
The blood pulsates through my veins,
and I wonder how difficult it will be to remain 
in the realm of wellness
or even clutching to the surface,
just as long as I don’t plummet
or fly,

but up and up and away would be nice,
I’d like that for change,
but then, I wouldn’t,
illness' propellant and subsequent crash is not a blast,
thought it might appear so
experienced that way.

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Image by Dyversions from Pixabay

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