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Tardive Dyskinesia

Updated: Dec 29, 2019

drip drip drip


a rusty pipe from my tail bone up to my skull, holds together my ragged muscles,

my nerve endings flowering out in vibrant and varying painful colors


searing, aching, corny romantic - spur of the moment

just trying to spice up the relationship type


pain


drip drip drip


I grab a towel, to wipe up as much as I can.

as always I sleep it off, but I wake up in a puddle


of blaring reminders, soaked and heavy before I even lift my covers

“YOU’RE NOT WELL.”


You’re sick.


So I sit shivering


Drip


What’s that smell?


drip


it’s burning, rotting

like melting flesh, but somehow


worse


I look down to see a flickering dim, rose colored light on the left side of my chest.

My skin papery, sad, holding on at best


Drip


body, I've caught you packing

why even pretend?


I catch myself begging


I'll try harder.


“Try,” a word motivational coaches loath, and my journal seems to be spitting out lately,


overloaded, cranky, bored

of the stale, tasteless word


I start to sweat and my feet haven’t even left my bed,

yet I swear I can feel the collective bad of the 6am insomniacs slipping

into my head.


I get up, tie my shoes and I run. I run like hell. through the grey

suburban streets mirroring

my eyes


But I’m not fast enough.


I leave a trail of rose petals, in case the old me starts to catch up and

will somehow understand I'm still trying to reach her


I’m gaining some momentum when

I’m stopped by the train beam going down, a rumbling in the distance


and right on cue, my muscles follow suit


damn copy cats


just for attention my left shoulder blade does a dance, my toes curl under for cover, my head and my tongue try to become one, and now I have an entire Russian ballet


jumping and spinning

within my body, cold,

calculating, efficient


invisible torment


shredding up any sense of peace I have left


I stand there, this dance happening on top of my tattered nerves

a man in a pick up truck whistles and laughs with his 3 friends. they honk and yell, “Bitch!” because I don’t look their way.


drip drip drip


something still doesn’t smell right.


a woman lights a cigarette next to me, everything goes white, and I

realize I’ve gone up in flames


I walk home out-blinding the sun, nobody seems to notice

any part of me

left withering up, and falling to ash.


I make it to my door right in time to grab a needle and some thread

I stitch sloppily, fast, panicked


leaking gasoline


I manage to piece together any me I have left.


it looks bad, and I go to bed


#tardivedyskinesia #tardivedystonia #antipsychotics #chronicpain

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