Allsorts of Stuff

My Irritable Motions

The draining, crushing vice grips hold whenever it pleases

The burning on my vital organs concern me

I have no diagnosis

I have a cop out from a doctor with no time

Its not his fault but it still irks me

I breathe fine most of the time

But when it decides that I will not

It is but a heavy burden until I fall asleep to forget


It does not end there

I wake with a race of burning sensations across my back

A weight upon me which I must struggle to lift

The challenge is not to deal with the motions

But the other ailments that join it


The bowels where it should wreak havoc

Carry on regardless, oblivious to the pain going on upstairs

The life of my tunnels of shite

Could be likened to a life a screw or bolt

Twisted and gripped by these irritable motions






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