by Denis Vogt

Created on: May 24, 2008

What It's Like

Even these words- these first, inevitable words, are blurry to me,
I never know What I've written until it's already down on paper,
But what I Have written so far,
Looks like a jumbled Mess in my Mind-

The keyboard is no longer Clear to me,
I have to strain and concentrate to make sure I'm hitting the right letters,
Something that's very odd, foreign, and Disturbing to me,

Because Words have been Such an Integral part of Who I Am-

My temples throb like a drum line- Pounding, Beating,
My left eye wants Nothing More than to Close and to Stay that Way,
The Pain in the left side of my brain Constant, and Burning,
And it's all I can do to hurry up and write before I can no longer Do so-

My eyes flicker like a strobe light at your favorite club,
Quick little flashes of white-hot Light spring forth as lightning,
The throbbing increases, the Pain intensifies,
But, Still- I have so Very Far to Go-

Strange bursts of color explode in my Vision,
As fireworks on the 4th, or confetti on New Years,
And what Disturbs me the Most,
Is that I have No Control over it- not in Any way-

I push forward; demanding to meet the goal I have set for myself,
Knowing that writing will only make things Worse,
But, for Some Reason; I just don't Care- not even a Bit,
Because This is who I Am- and This is My Purpose

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