What Happens When? Poem by Mark Heathcote

Nausea is a billowy blanket
that makes it difficult to swallow air
rich, clean, air—clutters the lungs
like a folding deckchair
just won't be expelled—I swear.

And still worse
a nervous disposition
makes you itch like you've hives all-over
makes you feel there are ants all-over
your body in places you'd not rather go.

Stress… Oh my lord, what an evil to do…
never should have worked so hard.
where's the time gone
doc says take a pill it'll-all-be fine
darling, falling apart isn't a crime.

And depression, oh my word it
took away my one world
swallowed it clean up & whole.
After which I could barely breathe
or control the way I felt or myself cajole.