black.

i am an appendix.
the harvester of your corruption. the conduit that collects your poison.

you notice me when i cause you pain.

so,
you cut, tear, wench, clinically saw me away. with local anasthesia. and plenty relief.
discard me, like the vestigial organ i am.
and tell me, i have the gall to call myself an organ.

you sit alone.
nursing the diminutive, pathetic wound i’ve left behind.

you heal.
all that’s vile, black, toxic,
gone for good.

you.
a whole human being, with just an appendix missing.

and yet, i remain an appendix.
an addage.
to you.

—

there are no profundities to spout today.

no lights, or shadow play.
but bright, white lights that force wakening.
wide-eyed wakening.
it’s the loud voices. the excruciating pain between shoulder-blades. the ringing phones. the foreign tongue that lashes around. the ever-present something-to-do, like an impending cold scratching, knocking, nagging, ever so slightly, at the back of the throat.

everything here forces wakening.
weakening.
withering.

the auto-pilot has gone wrong.
we’re crash-landing, folks.