Lines From the Brink of Illness

the looks of multiplicity in disease
glare back at me from the
distant corners...
I shrink away.
I am beneath protective coverings,
in every possible way.

I hope those looks don't peel away my blanket,
a soft, soft ocean eclipsing sight.

I hope they don't steal and dispose
of this sweet narcotic joy,
the excess robitussin that gave it to me,
or the clouds that in formal flashes
spastically melt before my eyes.

I hope they don't pry open my brain,
and play tauntingly, recklessly with my precious thoughts-
I so love to feel those thoughts dance in there,
majestically the electricity sways.

I hope they don't steal my pen,
or with swift gestures render me unable to write,
I can feel thousands of such ifs
crush me small with just potential.

I hope they just leave me be,
where I'm inches from remembering
what it felt like to scream with joy
in daily juvenile bursts,
all in efforts to voice the exhilaration
of jumping off a moving swing.

I hope for ten more seconds of this
I can stay.