"Metabolic Mayhem"

A Poem

“Metabolic Mayhem”

The pain doesn't sear. 
It pinches. 
My body clinches 
and folds in on itself. 
That's all it's ever done—
   held close to whatever it was that kept me alive when I was five;
   disconnected still from whatever it is now that longs to move on.
It doesn't have a name.
I never gave it one
beyond the ever-persistent scolding,
"Why won't you work?" 
It refuses to answer.
Elusive veins,
smeared antibodies, 
bloody clots,
and all the thoughts I can't ignore.
Despite my best efforts to remain
   calm,
   cool,
   collected,
   blissfully unaffected, 
Metabolic mayhem still reigns.

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