Intensive Care Poem by James Papastamos

My body lies frozen
On a cold hard bed of reality
Linen, long and leisurely,
Soft as a virgin's thoughts
Crusted with layers of anxiety
Soiled with pools of great expectations
As my eyes trace that fountain of medication
Dancing in mid air
Dancing high above that syringe
Cold and cruel
anxiously awaiting its chosen path

My eyes begin to narrow its vision
Their lids drooping in symphony
Along with drops of IV solution
That now carelessly meanders
Along a snake like path
Penetrating my Garden of Eden
With a taste of sin
As morphine dulls my senses
Awakens my sense of need
And flirts with every nervous fiber
In my dying body