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WMD

By jfarrell

Dressed in my fred flinstone trunks,

Riding my silver surfer surf board;

I crest the wave of fire,

I crash into the wave of ice

And howl in fury.

That bloody unicorn’s got my bag of weed!

I crash up against a barrier and feel myself enveloped,

Spider’s web spinning about me

Faster and faster…..

Damn…. this is a nifty looking space suit….

How does it work?

Of course!

Control panel on left arm (it’s in all the films).

WHOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH…….

That unicorn ain’t getting away with my weed!

I rise over my black, silvery ocean of flu

And look around…

THERE!

At the epicentre….

There’s my bag of weed…

BOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!!!

As I explode into a half dozen quick sneezes,

Which brings me to 2-3 minutes of coughing my lungs out…

I find the coffee I’m looking for and reach for it.

I can barely register the supermarket about me, my very empty basket.

A virus is at work in my body;

Recreating it’s nastiness and passing it on with my every breath;

But I still gotta do the shopping;

Haven’t eaten in 3 days.

Fevered visions

By jfarrell

6 or 7 years old;

I wake in the night, desperate for the toilet

Rush out to bathroom

To see a bright, glowing light emerge

From the bottom of the stairs.

Fled in terror back to my bed;

Don’t know what I saw,

But by the time I was under the covers, hiding

It was a glowing skeleton wrapped in chains;

Aglow.

Another, flu, bug blurred night;

Awaking again;

This time, the walls and floor go;

As I look, everything recedes, at high speed,

Into an unreachable distance;

There is no floor, just me, the bed

And a dark, bottomless chasm.

And the ones I really hate…

I awake to find my bedding is somehow alive,

An intelligent, thinking, malevolent entity

Hell-bent on suffocating me, tying me down;

Holding me responsible for horrid crimes

I can’t remember.

Maybe we can’t cure flu,

Because it’s really tiny aliens

Hell-bent

On messing with our heads.

May she get well soon,

A heart so lively,

And kind,

And beautiful she is like the moon.

She talks like a baby,

In a manner so cute,

An endless storage of stories,

Are there in her psyche.

Oh God! Relieve her from her pain,

She deserves to shine,

Like a rainbow,

Over and aver again.

Her smile is matchless truly,

Touches those nearby,

Her mind is a mirror,

That anyone can see clearly.

May God be merciful,

Taking away all her agony,

From her heart and soul,

May she remain ever beautiful.

I developed an ileus from being constipated.

This isn't something that's being exaggerated.

It's a blockage of the intestines, that's something I soon realized.

For a week and a half, my illness caused me to be hospitalized.

I was admitted at Morristown Hamblen Healthcare.

The ileus caused me to be hospitalized there.

The hospital was located in Morristown, Tennessee.

I couldn't eat or drink, I was connected to an I.V.

What happened to me can cause quite a scare.

I was treated well while I was hospitalized there.

It was over a week before I was put on solid foods.

I couldn't eat or drink, it put me in quite a bad mood.

Going to that hospital turned out to be a good decision.

While I was there, I mostly watched television.

After being treated with medication, my ileus ceased.

After ten days, I was better and I was released.

The medication I received drastically improved my digestive flow.

If you become ill, Morristown Hamblen Healthcare is an excellent hospital to go.

Tired, and sunken eyes,

She stares into the mirror,

At a body she has grown to despise,

She squints to see it clearer,

She doesn't notice her bony limbs,

Her delusional mind, sees only fat,

She craves not food, but only to be thin,

Her stomach to be completely flat,

She stares at herself, with clouded eyes,

She crumbles to the ground, in a wailing heap,

Her voice to weak, for anyone to hear her cries,

Another day gone, without something to eat,

She wanders the world, lost in her mind,

She just wanted to be pretty,

She has lost track of life, lost track of time,

She just wanted to be skinny,

As she walks, her body begins to fade,

Pain cuts through her body, like a knife,

She won't live to see another day,

Anorexia, has taken another life.

6 weeks 3 days and 4 hours.  Less than 2 months and life has been redesigned around me.  Mother now patient, child now carer, home now prison, hospital now home.  Every day the probabilities evolve and normality changes.  Prognoses masking people behind the portion of each percent. 

Each day at a time.  Each life sucking, drawn out, cancer filled day.  Fighting to climb out of the miasma of everything to do with the disease, desperate to see glimpses of an old reality around it.  How do you deal with something this outrageously huge and unfair?

You do. 

You draw on the visceral core of what it is to be human.  To survive. 

This battle has only just had it's lines drawn.  We are outnumbered 4 to 1.  And if our surgeon decides the battle is not, on balance, to our benefit 3/4 of our troops leave with him.  20% chance we stand relatively whole, enemy slain in 5 years.  If we fight alone it's 5%.  No general would authorise this fight, but they are not in charge.  It is the common people, clawing until their last breath breath to protect the loved ones and way of life they leave behind.

Chemical warfare and targeted strikes.  Lots of collateral damage.  Many times ahead, looking at the suffering and doubting this is worthwhile. 

Each day at a time.  Each painful, nauseous, fearful day.  To survive.

Oh, Darling, but it just isn't quite the same.
I speak softly, as I rip off her clothes,
It will be swift, Love, if you would just behave.
All the beauty resides in the cold,
You made made such a fuss, when you were alive,
Now your cold dead lips, they beckon mine,
It's cold now, your whitened flesh,
No movements or sounds, under my gentle caress,
No muscles tense, under my hungry kiss,
The taste almost to sweet, as I lick my lips,
No this simply will not do,
I'll create my own entrance,
Perhaps one, or two,
The metallic shines bright, as the blade pierces your skin,
A groan of pleasure, hn... delectable sin...
And as the crimson line appears,
I cannot help, but be brought to tears,
The beauty is almost too much, I'm ready to blow,
My lovely dead girl, lets start the show,
I sink my member, into your cold flesh,
The warmth of your blood, ah... a warm nest,
Lubricated with blood, I'm ready to fuck,
My hands on your shoulders, I gently slid in,
Into your cold, lifeless cunt,
And in between your ribs,
The pleasure is almost too much to bare,
But Darling I'm not finished just yet,
A few rips, wounds here and there,
Finally, it's time to finish the rest,
Thrusting, shoving, groaning,
The pleasure, the love, the moaning,
No screams of pain, No screams of fear,
No fighting it off, no pouring tears,
The blood, the cold, the heat,
Is just too much, for me,
A strangled moan, and finally, a release.
This is my curse, my hated disease,
Necrophilia, is not a want, but a need.
And as I lay your body down,
I let out, a much more satisfied sound,
Look to your body, covered in red,
Yes my Love, you are much more beautiful,
Dead.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihGCj5mfCk8

(^right click and open in new tab^)

dear mommy,

dear dad,

i remember

what we had,

i know you couldn't afford

the bills and the pain,

for you had your own 

from the past

that did remain,

i appreciate

the decision you made,

i know it was hard

to leave me in that ward,

but now i'm well

it's over...the hell,

my new mom and dad

have loved me dearly,

i just want to say

i love you,

sincerely.

12:31 PM 7/21/2013 ©

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