Storm
yesterday a thundercloud
clung to my back
reminiscent of
knife twisting,
of a medicine man
who foresaw
my own
twisted organs
in a decade old
dream
bees scurry
& sting my scalp
attempting to
escape the
cerebral inferno
in my grey mass lobe
the ghost of
Hippocrates appears,
tells me that no disease
is sacred, & I scream
at him to go away,
do not diminish
my divine delusions
the floor’s taste
scalds my tongue,
the pieces of me
tired of holding on
have gone numb
rain falls outside
like nectar & I
match the cadence
of my tears with it
to feel like I can
finally belong somewhere
Photo by Nikolas Noonan on Unsplash
Thistle Thoughts 
A powerful and moving poem!
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Thank you
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My pleasure Jennifer!
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Marvelous
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Thanks!
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This makes such perfect sense, Jennifer, right down to the cerebral storm.
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Thank you so much for reading 🙂
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