Delirium.

Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern——

My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

(Taken from Fever 103°. Sylvia Plath)


I stayed home today.
Mumbling poetry under my breath.

I cannot go to school today, said little Peggy Anne McKay...

I rolled around in sweaty sheets from sundown yesterday until well past noon today.
Waiting for my fever to subside.
Somewhere in the middle there I lost my voice.
All of it. Even my whispers are silent.

I have survived on cough drops and Nyquil.
My skin has all gone sore.
I am unable to distinguish the delirium
As a gift of the fever or side effect of the medicine.

Now Goose has gone off to work and I am alone.
I am a pitiful sack of fleshy germs when I'm ill.
Unable to focus.
Unwilling to take care of myself.

Instead I just slink about in slow motion.
Watching the second hand drag its way around the clock face.
Listening for the sound of the key in the lock.
Picking at the growing layers of crust in my eyes.

Tomorrow I have a midterm.
Bright and sunshiny early.
On soil horizons and taphonomy.
If I'm very good, or really lucky, I'll be better by then.


Song of the Day for today is by The Raincoats, really makes you miss 1996 don't it?
No? Not so much? At any rate, it's got a Lou Reed meets Psycho vibe that makes me light-hearted.
Even when I'm too sick to take care of myself.
Love you tons Dear Friend.