My forearms tingles,
It runs along my bone,
It started out small,
But now it has grown.
Every time I move,
I want to moan,
It burns like a fire,
Pierces like stone.
But the part that hurts most:
It's of my will alone,
I wouldn't have done this
If only I'd known.
;
The slightest movements
Have one purpose to serve:
To remind me that
I've damaged my nerve.
I should've known better
Than to let my wrist curve,
But it's hard to imagine
This is what I deserve.
For a while I can't work,
I'll only observe,
In hopes that my tendons
I can conserve.
In agony I live
Until I heal,
Only long rests
Will seal the deal.
Sometimes I wish
I could conceal,
But I couldn't function
The way I feel.
I wish that everything
Was simply unreal,
I can't wait till I'm over
This horrible ordeal.
YOU ARE READING
Fallen Crests, Rising Suns
PoetryWhenever you're blue, You know what to do, Read a poem through, Or maybe two. A collection of comments on the good times and the bad - in poem form. Even if you can only see the fallen crests of life right now, remember, there's a rising sun waiting...
