Pain awakes him from his sleep
He is struggling to breathe.
Stomach’s squeezing in on him
He canβt swallow his own spit.
Room is spinning, he canβt think
Head is hurting, he feels weak.
Muscles are too tense to move
He keeps shaking, he feels loose.
He can feel it in his gut
Going through his lungs and heart
Going through his throat and mouth
Hurts too bad for him to shout.
Both his veins are needle bruised
He hates doctors, they’re no use.
He keeps throwing up
He’s dead –
On the inside, nothing left.
All he feels is pain and hate,
Hate of life and fear of death,
Fear of dying all alone
Life is good
But not his own.
Head is pumping
Heart is racing
Blood is boiling
Limbs are shaking
Night is passing
Faith is ending
Sun is rising
Hope is fading.
Yet he grinds his teeth and kneels
And he fights and cries and screams
On the inside in his head
So that no-one hears his pain
So that no-one knows his fears
Or his battle with his tears.
As he wipes tears off his face
He can feel the scars remain
Deeply engraved in his skin
Nothing’s fair, he wants to quit.
But he takes control again
And embraces all his pain
That’s the only way to grow
And avoid to be outgrown.
As he gets back on his feet
He just smiles clenching his teeth
He puts on his fighter face
He is ready for the race.
Head is pumping
Heart is racing
Blood is boiling
Limbs are shaking
Night has passed
Faith’s resurrected
Sun is rising.
Hope is waiting.
