Tag Archives: medical

Skin and Bone

Your deception, my disgust
When your name is finally drawn
I’ll be happy that you’re gone
Ash to ashes, dust to dust
Ash to ashes, dust to dust
Skin to bone and steel to rust…

~*~

I feel the insects and parasites

Tangled in sick writhing masses under my skin

Like the paranoia in my blood

Synthesising bone and muscle to cold creatinine

Alkaline anaemia feeding away

On a prion virus anarchy that’s imminent to stay

Distorted appendages and deliria

Cryogenic stitches sewn under lighted penumbra

Hypertensive breaths suffocating

Lacerations and abrasions numbing, intimidating

Allergic to morphine and to pain

Adhesives abuse, an acidic atrocity left to remain

Tourniquet turning my veins blue

Scourge, eviscerate my neurological impediment

Through the slits in my silky skin

Pyrexia tastes like sweet sweat fever, I’ll torment

So let my lethargy be the catalyst

Listen to the acoustic shadow echoing in my ribs

The ligatures fading to distension

Voracious maggots in my head trauma slip incision.

~*~

Let tomorrow have its way
With the promises betrayed
Skin to bone and steel to rust…

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Chasing Zebras, Circling the Drain

When I sew you up, don’t let me—stop bleeding!
Tiny stitches that you placed into my skin
Won’t let me go (oh no, oh no!)
And they’re ruining the mood
So I’ll toast every beat of my heart like a miracle…

~*~

I’m just a madman in a gurney

You’re just a liar with a rope

These palpitations don’t concern me

If you cry now, you won’t cope

.

And the nurses are dancing wrong

For the lesions that marked your skin

And the doctors are singing along

Burning like injections and liquid sin

.

Intubate me, I can’t breathe alone

The lozenge you prescribed lodged in my throat

These syndromes are but mere anomalies

But I’m a curious mystery, solve my cataplexy

.

Diagnose me again and over again

Abscesses in my heart, lymphoma in my brain

Give me some lorazepam or another placebo

Is there a hospital gown I can borrow?

.

A convulsion and a single stroke

Say the words and I’ll say that I’m sick

And the experimental apparatus didn’t work

As the vaccines failed the antibiotics

.

Immunocompromise me, make me weak

In a pathological war of an epidemic

I’m in remission, you gave pulmonary edema

I can’t speak now, I’m down with aphasia

.

Another dose of Vicodin to cover

The pain feeling like electric shocks

Your chest heaves under the defibrillator

Your oxygen tank ticks like the clock

.

Count the beats on the monitor

I won’t close my eyes if you listen slow

My blood is clotting from pressure

But don’t worry dear, you won’t see me go

.

I’ll perfuse the circuit, keep you alive

I’ll call a crash cart to make sure you died

Teach you how to use a morphine drip

And sedate you from Occam razor’s sharper slip

.

Accidents happen, they occur the worst

Trust me, this is just a blessed curse

Your heart is removed, your skin feels cold

Just don’t end up crying in the morgue

.

Don’t seize now, don’t crash in a hurry

Hold on, I’m trying to save the date

You went into tachycardia at the sight of me

Your scheduled surgery is running late

.

So call off the operation, call off the operation

If your valium teeth are still smiling

Call off the operation, the operation again

If the IV drips blood, we win, we win, and I win

.

‘Cause I’m just a patient dying in sepsis and crazy

You’re just another white-coat liar with a stethoscope

And all the tools and scalpels are already rusted over

But doctor, is it still too much to ask for some hope?

~*~

And I don’t think you’ll ever want to love me
You’d better listen to your doctor
Doctors lie (lie!), lie (lie!), lie
If the dollar is right, oh, my sweet little girl
Hold your mouth and you’ll be all right!

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Misdiagnosis

Stop targeting

My central nervous

System, you’re

Tearing apart my gut

I need a dose

Of your own medicine

An injection, stat

You’re the raged disease

That’s infecting me

Terminally, I’m quite sure

But is it harmless

To assume that you’ll also

Be the only cure?

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I don’t care…

I’m so fucking sick

And you’re contagious

Just how perfect can we both be?

But another patient

Has already cured you

Shit, why couldn’t it have been me?

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v-tach

Chase away

The darkness

That’s breathing

In me with life

Treat medication

From the veins

I gouged with

A scalpel knife

Eat my cancer

When it festers

Within my mind

That won’t restart

Operate me and

Amputate this

Failure of a system

You call a heart.

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Ipse Dixit

You’re begging for the impossible. You plead the fifth and proclaim it’s the inevitable, but I am as solid as the philosopher’s stone circumscribed within the third chamber of my arcane comatose heart. A paralysed blood flow. A coronary heartbeat. The monitor sinks into an eclectic deadline. You perceived the evidence, assimilated the apnoea, penultimately confirmed the apoplexy with an exorbitant sigh and a commiserating disposition. Castigate my otiose conniption if you must, but it wouldn’t make any goddamned difference if I’m a cello strung across a rainbow crossing in the welkin of the Valhalla or a bagpipe resting against a river of magma and hellfire in the very eviscerating core of the earth. It is but an expendable prestidigitation, smoke and mirrors reflecting spectres in the illusion, so why abjure? He himself said it. It is a moot point in a Van Allen Hyperion. For if the very man Himself cannot prosecute it, then let it occur to your benighted follies that your playing God cannot save me. Don’t make me go back. I won’t do it. I won’t.

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Operating Room #66

A celebrated man amongst the gurneys
They can fix me proper with a bit of luck
The doctors and the nurses, they adore me so
Which is really quite alarming
‘Cause I’m such an awful fuck…

~*~

His ineptitude was not a gaffe to be forgiven easily. The masked surgeons and the bloodied nurses were merciless and beleaguering; they turned on the blinding light of the dysfunctional surgical lamp, its constantly flickering bulbs enough to induce a bad weather migraine and an epilepsy episode, and shone it onto their latest test subject’s (although the hospital employees never say it aloud, it’s simply an unspoken given, and thus they usually refer to them as a very sugarcoated ”patient”) visage, contorted into a subdued emptiness. Without any further ado about nothing, they began, rather unceremoniously, to proceed with the operation (or ”experimental treatment”, if one wished to continue to be politically correct, however pointless it may be at such a situation), lashing at the hollowly-staring patient with rusty scalpels, shoving non-disinfected blunt hypodermic needles that pricked his rubbery pockmarked skin, siphoning various fluids and effluvium off his rapidly shriveling body, lathering liberal amounts of unnamed substances that had varying reactions, more positive than negative, severing veins, limbs, organs, muscle, and epedermis, tapering lines of intravenous antibiotics, saline, venomous liquids, and various medicines and panacea that should never be ingested, and hacking away at his dismembered body, which already looked like a twisted asylum head case’s demented jigsaw puzzle to begin with.

All the while, a nameless tall silhouette leered over the discordant operation, supervising and watching taciturn by an elevated lightless corner, obscured rather fitfully by the pure vantablack shadows which seemed to conglomerate around it like clinging needy pets, overlooking everything in smug amusement like some form of a fallen god figure in his throne, not quite palpable, not quite corporeal. The harassed and scurrying employees were his to denounce, condemn, and order around, and though the hospital employees’ actions were that of someone who pretended that the ever-surveillant silhouette did not, in fact, exist, they still kept their distance safe and respectful. Since they were all also terribly frightened of the heavy comeuppance that may be penalised to them if they come off as impertinent and failed to give devotion to their superiors, yet they dared not risk anything else extravagant, their heads merely jerk into a twitchy bow, mayhap a sign of a subconscious nervous tic or that of involuntary worship, whenever they happen to face that specific elevated lightless corner.

Halfway through sewing both their guinea pig’s (the more they worked, the more unkindly they become, the final stage of derogatory term being bag of bones, left to the rubbish bins) lungs and left kidney together with used fishing strings (solely for experimental purposes only, the procedure did absolutely nothing for benefit nor treatment), the patient, who was originally lethargic and apathetic and remained so the entire time, did the strangest thing, out of the blue. It was so abrupt and sudden, a change in the circadian rhythm, a derailment of the train tracks, a break from the usual cycle, so much so that unsureness and hesitation immediately enveloped the room like a milky opalescent fog. The patient’s action was nothing like the professional surgeons nor constrained nurses, and not even the omniscient godlike silhouette, had ever seen before. Sensing that he had caught everyone’s attention, the patient, making motions for the first time since the start of the operation, blinked both swollen eyelids gingerly (one socket was missing an eyeball), and tilted its barely attached head slowly, in a pompously suspenseful manner, to show them a fuller glimpse what his disfigured face was doing.

The effect was instantaneous and devastating. It caused bloodshot eyes to widen momentarily, jostled volatile gasps of shock from the disturbed nurses, and made everyone react in some way or manner. Some could only stare in horror, frozen to the spot and absentmindedly muttering undecipherable incantations, others swayed slightly as if shot with tranquilliser, gripping their knuckles white against nearby solid surfaces to steady themselves, and one even backed up against the wall and slid downwards into a faint, collapsing on the grimy linoleum floor, next to where the patient’s missing eyeball apparently rolled onto. It was so appalling that it even made the usually-unperturbed tall silhouette flinch, as if touched by the most potent muriatic acid (which, as a matter of fact they did have, but in storage), and instantly it recoiled and drew away from the scene of the crime, a tortured sibilant hiss accidentally escaping through its grimy gritted teeth as it did so.

The unknown silhouette’s poisonous reaction was the final breaking point. For a singular moment, the place grew was mollified, growing uncomfortably quiet. Everyone was petrified in an almost tableaux position, nasty accusing looks and roving uneasy glares tossed around with bated breaths, as if taunting each other to act. The silhouette, appeasing of his sagacious error, merely stood guard and watched its subordinates to see how they would react, kicking aside a tendrilled shadow that wrapped itself affectionately around its leg. An eternity and an aeon passed. When no one twitched even a muscle, it seemed as if everyone was finally calmed into a gregarious rationality. But then, as the scene was only just beginning to thaw, the person who fainted also thawed with them. She stirred slightly, opened her eyes groggily to see a severed, mangled one gazing back at her, and opened her mouth to scream.

The fragile glass of silence shattered. The operating room was thrown into pandemonium in a split-second, cacophony of high-pitched shrieks amongst disgusting sounds of ripping fabric, perhaps of the soiled unreplaced bandages or the thin discoloured gurney itself, harried feet stampeding to the nearest emergency exit, sickening crunches of fractured fingers and broken bones as brogues and pennyloafers trampled carelessly on those who got caught in their own feet and tripped, quailing whimpers and quivering murmurs of those who were unlucky enough to be casualties and collateral damage (one of whom stepped on the continuously troublesome eyeball and slipped on it with an unpleasant squelch and a deadened thud), as the susurrus disembodied voice overpoweringly rose above it all, inhuman dissemination getting increasingly stentorian and piercing through eardrums, its sound like coalescing amalgam of tireless radio static, screeching microphone feedback, and unclipped fingernails dragged down a chalkboard, snarling at everyone to return to composure and finish the procedure.

But no one listened. No one obeyed. No one stopped to care. Not even the catatonic patient. He simply laid there, supine, bemused, watching the madness with his remaining glossed-over eye, his remaining members, positioned like a gruesome present, on a wicker basket dripping with glimmering scarlet blood, his mangled body still strapped with chafed leather belts to the bare freezing metal bedframe, not showing any acknowledgement of seeing the fiasco, not attempting to release himself from the constraints, not changing nor moving all the chaos. He just continued to smile.

~*~

I gave you blood, blood
Gallons of the stuff
I gave you all that you can drink
And it will never be enough
I gave you blood, blood, blood..
I’m the kind of human wreckage that you love!

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