Well again we've come to Friday, the fantastic little capper for this past work week, which for me this week, it felt like five days treading within the lake of fire! In keeping with the theme of my current series, The Move Toward Freedom Westward AKA The Continuing Story Of My Life, I've chosen a poem that was written during that time period, so you my dear readers can get a better understanding of what a living hell can really be like and as always... enjoy!72 Hours In The Cold
Bought a big old pizza last night from the local pie factory and brought it back home, just so’s I could stick my feet in the warm mushy dough and thick tomato sauce to keep from getting frostbite
Drank 10 cups of hot tea just to stay alive
Composed poetry in the bathroom
Coughed up blood on Friday and fried it up like eggs, spread it on toasted bread and swallowed it, imagining it was peanut butter and spice
Got chewed out by a boss who said I wasn’t taking enough initiative even though she took more than enough and chased several people away
I am writing a letter to a woman in Florida, sipping tea, dreaming of love while speaking to my mother about being cold and death and yet, I still have writer’s block and cold fingers
Sang a brand new tune in my sleep and no one heard it except for the howling wind, who stole it when I wasn’t looking and sold it for a cool 8 million to Eminem
Keep telling myself that sleeping in my apartment is like sleeping in a morgue
There’s moustache hair swimming like young tadpoles in my now cold tea
My landlady swears that one of these days she plans to fix the heat
I am sitting in a hospital gown in emergency room number nine with a tube up my nose, a wire in my arm and a lubed gloved finger where the sun don’t shine and doctors and nurses are standing ‘round shaking their heads and wringing their hands and are not sure what to do and all I can do is think about is how warm my toes are
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