Tuesday, 4 March 2014

Mr. Prednisone

I think my pal Mr. Prednisone is mad at me. 

I lay here. It's dark. 
I lay here. It's bed time. 
I lay here. The city sleeps. 
I lay here. Brad's gentle breathing. 
I lay here. The dogs are snoring. 

I lay here. 
I lay here. 
I lay here. 

Eyeballs staring; room lit up by the streetlight. 

Mind racing; too much to think about. 

Feeling better. 

But starving. Can't get enough to eat. 
Finish one thing and start thinking of what's next. 

What will fill me? 
What will make me satisfied?
When will the cravings stop?

Mr. Prednisone, you can be so cruel. 

I am always kind to you. I take you every day, on time. 

In return, you leave me wide awake and day dreaming of food. 

All kinds of food. 


Sleep. You avoid me. You dodge me. You playing with me?

I just want to close my eyes and drift. Dream of food. 

More snoring in the room. 

More alertness inside. Can't understand. Just want sleep. Sleep is all I want. 

And food. 

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