ManicWorld Magazine

It started with my feet being dipped in cool paint
That was the feeling
As I descended the stairs that Sunday morning
I couldn’t explain it away
By the time I reached the hall, “It’s MS – I’ve got MS”
Like a stopped clock
A worrier is sometimes right
The strangeness spread
My fur rubbed backwards
Within days a firestorm blazed in my personal substation
My body at war with itself
At night whole sections wiped out
Reviving, Lazarus like, in the morning
Leaving tell-tale signs
Frayed live wires in my midriff
Sparks flying
One booted foot slapping on the road, out of time with its neighbour
Two doctors wordlessly agreeing I’m anxious
“Reassurance given” “Non – dermatomal distribution” “Resolving symptoms”
Appealed for help, explained my plight – disbelieved

Appealed for help, explained my plight – disbelieved
“Reassurance given” “Non – dermatomal distribution” “Resolving symptoms”
Two doctors wordlessly agreeing I’m anxious
One booted foot slapping on the road, out of time with its neighbour
Frayed live wires in my midriff
Sparks flying
Leaving tell-tale signs
Reviving, Lazarus like, in the morning
At night whole sections wiped out
My body at war with itself
Within days a firestorm blazed in my personal substation
The strangeness spread
My fur rubbed backwards
Like a stopped clock
A worrier is sometimes right
By the time I reached the hall, “It’s MS – I’ve got MS”
I couldn’t explain it away
As I descended the stairs that Sunday morning
That was the feeling
It started with my feet being dipped in cool paint