Crawling. On my spine.

Nails on the chalkboard of my bones.

Running up and down

To my legs

Pins, needles, the lot

Vertebraes clicking

In and out of place

Can we just quicken up the pace

Of my dying?

I'm ready to go.

So ready in fact I think

The pain and the scratching

Are pure imagination

Simply rogue thoughts

Left to fester for too long

The electrical impulses

In my brain, taking a detour

Settling in the spine.

And scratching. Endlessly.

Melting to my legs

As an ache, filling them with lead

So heavy and viscous

I'm sure it's all in my head

So viceral, so chaotic

That's it. I'm sure

It's just in my head.

NHS wait times are too long anyway