My doctor wanted to give me the results of a blood test so asked me to come down
As I sat there listening to him meandering on about cholesterol, blood pressure, vitamin deficiencies
I got fed up and cut in on him suddenly
"Look Doc don't sugarcoat it, how long have I got ?"
He said "What do you mean, you're still in pretty good shape, you have a few things you gotta watch...
Again I cut in on him "I appreciate you're trying to break it to me easy Doc
But y'know I don't mind, as long as I...as long as I just get some nice big fancy disease with a big fancy name on it
Not one of those ould common garden type diseases that everyone gets
Something that'd make them all jealous envious
They'd all be looking at their own boring little diseases saying
"I wish I had a disease like his, with a big fancy name on it
Not this ordinary little disease that I've got
They'd be all looking over thinking
He must be a very special type of guy to have gotten such a big fancy disease like that...

The ****** of a doctor, he went and charged me 60 Euros
Now... now that hurt.

fingers
                (they grow—damp
but not ripe)
  
         (damp)
the world leans into—flesh sways
           like chimes inside rotten skin

–hisscrack—snap!  
                        one
finger,      *******
falling           silent
beneath

                        murmur
            of the trench (deep    and wet
     in its hunger)                                                          ­              
            (flesh like flaking bread)
the fingers think about the soft ground
and wish they were    as light
                                as they
were not

if only it were not so
            slow

            left with—
                                the ache—   the hollow
where fingers once
     felt
        the grip of a rifle
                           (now forgotten)
       as they slowly,
    listlessly drop        
    towards the hungry earth

i
                am
      still here
    if only i can touch
                           the dirt  
            with    nubs that will never
            rise  
            up against
                   the gray

—drip
                           drip
        of life from
         where my
                (left) hand
should
                 hold a fist

but it is just
                       bone  
                             and bone
growing brittle
until the
                          whisper  
                         reaches to  
                           speak louder than silence
     and

                                       then

there is nothing
     but the hole inside
me left
              to remember me.

You haven’t sung this song for some time
The pain returns tears well up in your eyes
You’re writhing like twisting, turning, treetops in a storm
No comfort coming your way
Just endless waves of torn
You’ve got no time for this but time is all you have left
The disease is torturing you to Death
You give it nothing but it takes it all your breath
Your insanity wrecks havoc on you Day and Night
Your lovely soul keeps you in the fight
Don’t let a pirate in the night steal you blind
You’ve everything and nothing to lose
Dark machinations it has for you
Gray glowing moon
No more Silver Spoon
Twisting turning room for you
The Demon returns until Balance you earn
Steady your rudder
Hands upon the wheel
Find your center and Victory you shall steal

She wakes up every morning
with a frown on her face
as he stumbles from his bed
and into a chair that
he will never get out of-
there is tension in the air
as she downs another
exclaiming, "bottoms up"
when it makes her glass world
shatter
at the rise of a cup

All he can do is watch the pieces
as they become pronounced
while the shift of retreating cats
induces a pitter-patter
and more pictures fade out;
the happy memories
now stained
from her cigarette smoke
to ensure they'll die together,
yet somehow alone

He is cursed with a disease
that has rendered him pitiful
but alcohol doesn't care,
she drinks another swig,
becoming more cyclical
and deems the mans hindrance
as sinful

Stuttering, he can't escape
a liquid she's drowned him with
by pouring it into her own veins-
maybe it's better this way,
to watch the walls as they cave in

What else can he do
as he slowly degrades
from Parkinson's?

How many women here
have been impregnated
by Elon Musk? looking for hands

He plans to repopulate the planet
single handedly - well, not handed
exactly - you know what I mean.

In Australia, great swaths of Texas,
and of course Mar-a-Lago, he’s a serial offender,
because his ***** is legal tender.

Factoid: you might catch a disease,
he’s sleeping with everyone north of Belize
and several of them, frankly, look ******.

Of course, you’d have to listen to him talk. shivers
Unless you say, “Hey, can we do this without conversation?”
That’s when you’d slip on your sleep mask, and, well, you know.
But what would you be thinking about?
.
.
FUN! by KiNG MALA [E]
BLOODONTHETIMBS by Bren Joy  [E]

John's illness is called

John, Ella's is called Ella --


mine, well, you know me.

Tu és um milhão de coisas;
Desejos, pesadelos, alucinações que nem bálsamos aplacam
Olho ao meu redor, e lá estás,
Porém, em meu ser, não te sinto.
A voz do povo, como um roubo de opiniões, revela a lógica
E o absurdo,
Pois o verbo é o que é,
E também o que não pode ser.

Antigas poesias,
Clamando às estrelas e à lua,
Mais um divertimento fugaz.
Sentimentos que não encontram sentido em tua mente turvada,
Como uma epiléptica a observar um estroboscópio sem fim.

Tu fizeste flores brotarem em meus pulmões
E em meu peito;
Embora formosas sejam,
Não consigo respirar.
Arrancaria tais flores e te as entregaria,
Um ramo de “eu te amo” que jamais foram ditos.
Teu nome, como gelo, cala meu coração.

Espero, aguardo, pela próxima mensagem,
Risadas que me impelirem ao retorno,
Ansiedade que confunde o pensamento,
Sofrendo por males que não ocorreram… ou ainda ocorrerão?

Na minha sepultura, portas se fecham,
Meu corpo se desfaz,
As flores se tornam parte de mim,
Pouco chegam a mim as vozes que falam
De uma fantasia.
Resta, enfim, a solidão.

so scared of losing yourself
to a future disease
you forgot about the rage inside
and your family's grief

there's a lifetime of love here
but it's getting hard to see
this thing you think you're fighting
well it's really fighting me

Pressure in my chest:

it's happened before, I know --


nothing to worry!