Hidden, lost inside,

Chock-full of doctor’s drugs.

I do not eat. Food I can’t abide.

Sleep but fitful flight.

Low blood pressured pills.

No nutrition to fill,

I collapse amidst the mess,

The fall a frequent ride.

Stand up in dread

Head spins, hang tight

Fingers quiver and loosen

And the floor I bite.

Once I hit the kitchen side

Mid drop, mid flop.

Unconscious how long I lay?

No-one to notice or provide.

I cannot say. I felt my head.

The slick of blood.

I saw my hand to find the red

And in my shock I cried.

Staring at the mirror, blood

Coursing down my face

Why wash it off? I left it there.

What point, alone in my place?

No-one visited. No-one rang.

No-one would know next time

For real? Body to be found long

After I had gone, impaled.

© 2017 James Hanna-Magill