No Preexisting Medical Conditions

Comments (0) Issue 1, Poetry, Writing

 

By Chelsea Sanchez

 

I die several times a month

My heart pounds, chest aches, palms sweat

My soul floating out of my skin

Is as familiar to me as falling asleep

Sharp pains shooting through my back

Are shrugged off with commonplace ease

Just another Tuesday

 

Sometimes my lungs are paralyzed

No matter how much my jaw works, they don’t expand

When I walk there are times a bone pops out

I take off my shoes frantically, examining the arch

There is no blood, only folded skin

My skin gets so dry I peel away in layers

Down to my marrow

 

The headaches are tumors

The spotted hands anemia

The moles cancer

My body has signed up for every way to die

In the hopes that one will take

And I sit anxiously in the waiting room

To hear the good news that my time is up

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