What Can I Do? Poem by Zyw Zywa

Ill again. Panic
of falling into pieces
in my own skin

Trying all I can
to hold myself
Looking for weapons
and dreaming of ruses
Waking up without

Walking the problem out
the door, having to rest
somewhere in the grass, seeing blood
well up from an abrasion

Taking a baffled look at it
My worthless body full
of fresh blood, full of strength
There is still so much to do

what I thought I could
postpone, time and attention
for friends in the waiting
rooms of my eager life

Come on, I live, I can
bleed and be ill, take care
of others, I live -
no measured hours