…Ah.
Where am I?
Hm…
Oh, yeah, that’s right…
Do you ever get to worrying
When New Years comes and goes
What the coming months will bring
And what you’ll have to show?
I urge you now, please, not to think
Jumping years will be that hard
When you hear my yearly struggle
Is just getting it to start.
I’m spending New Year’s in the E.R.
Since my heart’s stopped seven times –
The sentence for the crime
Of living past my prime –
It’s been like this for twenty years
For no reason, with no rhyme.
So, pardon thee,
It seems to me
To dread and hate uncertain Fate
Who still has yet to start
Is for those he’ll never satiate,
Namely: the sick at heart.
See, my soul’s in poor condition,
Wracked with spasms from the fear
Of a liver in consumption
Brought on by leagues of beer –
Draughts to drown the pain
Of rusted staples in my gut
Infecting toes to brain
And filling up fresh cuts
With festering bacterium
That reek of mold and milk –
All this, and more, makes me glum
As the Reaper’s bill I bilk.
That bill I reap come January
At midnight on the first
Restarts the vicious cycle,
Gives my health an ailing thirst
Which can’t be quenched by anything
And so I can’t but wait
To see if my poor failing heart
Fulfills what, at this rate,
Will be the dismal ending
To an otherwise bright New Years.
And, if I wasn’t sick at heart,
That might just bring me tears.
That is – it might have.
If my body weren’t raw from every skin flake
If my bones weren’t like glass, just asking to break
If my jaw didn’t jangle all loose on its hinges
If my throat wasn’t sewn shut by two hundred stitches
If my scalp wasn’t pared right down to the skull
If stones weren’t what make my kidneys so full
If oxygen didn’t cause allergies
If standing too long didn’t contuse my knees –
My ribs are shrunk
My muscles gunk
My teeth are cracked
My nerves all jacked
Holes for ears
Shedding beard
Drooling nose
Seven toes –
The list only grows
The more New Years that show.
So, I’m spending New Year’s in the E.R.
Since my life’s ceased seven times –
Stumbling down an uphill climb
That could give way on a dime –
It’s been like this for far too long
That death would be sublime.
So, pardon thee,
It seems to me
To worry for a New Year
Before it’s on the fritz
Pales before anticipation
For when my heart inevitably-
Morning's Early Dark 