What's Wrong With Me - For Now.

Illness is tiring;
I laugh about how
more painful it is to complain -

What
a
bore!

That's my front, what I cackle,
along with

Good gawd, it's
such a pain in the fucking ass, isn't it?

It's what many want to hear, instead of my depression -

That's what it seems to me
when people
don't want to call you back
until you are well.

That's what it seems to me
when I
don't want to call people back
until I am well.

A month of debilitation
Of uncertainty -
What's wrong with me?
Doctors mean well
But are too scared to be wrong
As I grow old
Waiting for them to take action.

I have little to complain about, really;
My friend will walk for Cancer's Cure
next weekend -
She lost her uterus.
My other friend lost her breast.
Others lose their lives every day
to anything and everything
I realize as I get older
That I have good reason
To be paranoid about dying
With everyone dropping like flies;

I don't have Cancer.
Thank God.

All I have to worry about now
Is a spinning dance I don't want
Vertigo on the half-shell
Equilibrium is a funhouse
Like a night of
too much drinking, topped off
with a joint.
How the room then starts to turn wildly
and you see double
it spins or half-spins
and goes back to the beginning
like a broken record of visual distortion -

That is what it is like at a moment's notice.

I reach for the cereal box
on the top shelf
and nearly drop it
as the room spins and tilts.
I walk down stairs and hold the railing
like a fucking frail creature
sixty years my senior.
I sleep at night
like Joseph Merrick
laying down flat makes the room fly 'round.
Recent headaches,
weakness, and a desire to do nothing more than sleep
and feel sorry for myself.

That is what I am for right now.

Vestibular blah blah blah
Meniere's something something
But we're not sure that's it either
As they smile with uncertainty.

I'm certain that I'm ready to move on from here.