Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

They say we make the worst patients. My roommates tell me it's true. My frustration is rising as the itching gets worse. Stuck in this plastered body barely able to move. Unable to walk. Unable to relieve myself alone, and having to depend on my roomies, it makes me angry, though I don't mind it when Wendy helps out. I get angry. It's embarrassing. It's annoying. I'm sick of my own whining. Every 4 hours the pain rises again, reminding me of my limits and mortality. No, Doc, you're not immortal. You're just a lucky ass to still be alive. Trying to keep myself focused on anything but this itching. The constant itching. Picking at this keyboard with one hand. Tricking myself into believing that I can do this. I can do this. I want to tear my skin off. I want to poke holes in this plaster. I want to stick long sticks down into those holes. I want to get out of this torture cast and rub myself up against a hard rough tree trunk until I bleed. I don't care what it takes to stop this. I want to SCRATCH!

"All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling" -Oscar Wilde


The following comments are for "Itch"
by MountainBill


Cheer up puppy! We'll take care of that itch. I wrote a blog and did an Avatar you like?

( Posted by: Legs [Member] On: January 12, 2006 )

drugs and itches
Hey, Legs did good!(REALLY NICE LEGS!)
... I would suggest writing a perscription for some very nice few hours of anitomical relief, or at least ostent relief.
Conviviality always has a place, even amid plaster casts.
I feel for you, the itch that drives insanity being well known to me, despite my lack of plaster. Yet, the pharmecutical pad is also unknown to me, and despite that, for want of a better bank account, could alleviate my misery. Life sucks, sometimes doc, but poetry ALWAYS makes us better- and when we die, we might become something, monetarily alleviating troubles to those we leave behind.
Meanwhile, we deal with the itch. Cast or no.
I realize I am granting myself much more verbosity then you had imagined possible. It's late here, I have a pleasant buzz and nothing better to do than comizerate, even if in my own mind's eye. Forgive please, or send me a package of your persription tablets so that I can find a way to allieviate my sleeplessness.
I hope I have amused you. I would find myself amusing if there weren't so much truth in these sad words...
Sleepless in Virginia-

( Posted by: emaks [Member] On: January 12, 2006 )

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.