it is spring storm april there is blue lagoon on my belly and resignation in my eyes. pressure- cold cold black and white static, clicking keys “most people don’t get to my room until they’re pregnant” she smiles, “lucky you!”
it is flower daze april there is blue slushie on my belly, styrofoam back in my room mocking me with sugary sips “don’t move” she rasps, harsh words for young ears it is 2 AM with sticky tears
it is premonition april with puzzled personnel and guessing games 5 years too late “surgery”, she reports “if the pain doesn’t resolve like it should” the pain doesn’t resolve like it should
it is new day dawn april with naproxen overdoses and limited ROM it is white coat april undiagnosed balloons populating abdominal cavity crevasses she writes “it should be uncomfortable, no pain” i spasm in and out of dropped dagger pang
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