The Go-bloots.

As a wise man said, “The mind plays tricks on you. You play tricks back.”

I think I’m about to die
from complications of
matters of the heart,
this virus inside us
infecting every thought,
carving a hole in my gut
as it slithers and slides,
glides and grips,
bends and breaks and rips
at my grey matter,
coiling around my neck
till I can’t breath,
nipping at the back of my mind
till I can’t feel nothing inside me,
till I’m screaming at the world
for another dose of morphine
to help me sleepwalk through my days
because this waking fear
of a phone that never rings
–late-night diagnosis, chart reads,
terminal case of mediocrity
from fatal dose of inadequacy–
it’s keeping me up all night.

The Gobloots. Steve Arviso. 2019.

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