Body Abused
It just isn't so true that your time here is so short.
Sure, it slips through your fingers like sand,
minutes, hours, days, years, decades, centuries.
But it just can't be that short because I can feel it
weighing down on my vertebrae, each disk becoming,
each day just a little closer to the ground.
I can feel it in my knees which bend and flex only because I tell them
they have to.
I can feel it in my hand, which keeps begging me to put down the pen,
and rest it.
Just for a minute or two
or three.
How can a body so abused and addicted
So bruised, scarred, and infected
not count the seconds by every iota of pain that it feels?