Crunch Time

Bloodletting tear shedding

No reaction at a wedding

Lung collapsing air gasping

Clock ticking time passing

Skin crawling rash raw and

Senses duller than before but

Body reeks betrayal seeks

Some peace, good news, release

Instead my

Migraines race like trucks at trains

Blood flows hot and floods my brain

Achy joints with juicy aches

Camouflaged with jumping jacks.

There she goes they say and marvel

at the grace the brave bonanza so

content, so joie de vivre yet

seldom do they see the starving

stomach gutted of contentment

filled with yearning and resentment

and unlimited self-pity ain’t

she pretty – for a sicky.

I’ll be damned

if she don’t beat this.

What time is it…? Crunch time.      

                       

Always crunch time.



Copyright 2012 Liya Khenkin