i am an appendix.
the harvester of your corruption. the conduit that collects your poison.
you notice me when i cause you pain.
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.
all that’s vile, black, toxic,
gone for good.
a whole human being, with just an appendix missing.
and yet, i remain an appendix.
there are no profundities to spout today.
no lights, or shadow play.
but bright, white lights that force 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.
the auto-pilot has gone wrong.
we’re crash-landing, folks.