"My Back Hurts"
It could be blamed on the strain.
Tension ingrained in every joint.
Every muscle locked
in a tussle
for what bit of relief
one could hope to salvage.
Maybe it was mismanaged;
be it a misdiagnosis
or some degree of neglect
that I hope is never forced to the surface.
The purpose of posturing
a price I've paid too often
just to soften the concern
even a little
for this frame that has grown frail
and brittle.
Belittled by the prospect
of still thinking of myself
as an object
one would never look away from,
I've given time and wasted some
on thought after the fact
and complacency while in the act
of my deliberate deterioration.
Elation an overt cover for the wince
that has animated my anguish since
I last recalled a fall
that left me with lessons to learn
I've since chosen not to be concerned with.
That pressure:
The burning when I walk.
The unwillingness to talk
for fear of disclosing
the degree of discomfort
that has surely reshaped
underlined and redefined
what I've come to consider routine.
Was told it was my drinking
and I'm thinking better of that.
Somewhat. Not really.
Told myself
without blinking
that cup two nor twelve
could ever contribute to the hell
of dealing with this sober.
Was explained moreover
and again
how this pain can be contained
with conventional means of sobriety
but I'm already over it.
Perhaps in the end
it boils down to the stress.
My penchant for pondering intent
whether bad or good
should at times
be the furthest from my mind
but I feel it in my spine
when I say that I'm fine.
I take some time to rub my neck
before anyone can check
on my current condition.
Not quite what I've envisioned
at such an early age, at least.
Rest and peace
on so premium a lease
that I'm to the point of offering
a portioned piece of my flesh
if it would keep this at bay
for the rest of the day.
I can't take it.
Devin Joseph Metz
4.7.2020
