PREDNISOLENE

James Moston

You’re white and dry like chunks of chalk.
You’re odourless and taste like rotting cheese.
You’re clammy, coarse and gag-inducing
But have power that soothes my throbbing body.
I want you. And I praise you. Swallow.

You wash over countless burning pustules.
You break through the crowds in bulging veins.
You choke volcanic cankers into dormancy
But starve both the seeds I need to stay alive.
I resent you. But I need you. Swallow.

The chips that spark my mind are scrambling.
The motors of my limbs are lame and heavy.
The failing faulty frame still holds me up
But my eyes have lost their appetite for light.
You saved me. Then condemned me. Swallow.

They said they’ll slowly ease your grip on me.
They told me I can learn to live without you.
They promised your disease can be reversed
But your baby brother holds the cure I need.
He’ll restore me. Or destroy me. Swallow.