Dear Reader:  Let me apologize and advise beforehand.  This was indeed written early this morning as I was doubled over in wretched illness.  The picture it paints is not pretty.  But, as they say, writing (in any condition) is therapeutic.



©2010 Robert C Burnham


It’s at 4:00 a.m.

That I need someone

To hold; the time

When there is no one

Around – and the pain

Is bad

I’m throwing up

More now, but

It is neither food nor drink

It’s actually quite,


My left arm hurts while

My right is numb

Understandably, it

Is hard to write

Mixed in, tears

Hitting the page

Forcing my pen

Around blotches of


I am not the only one


My dog sits near me,

Whimpering in C major

As though she’s

Anticipating my final

Odiferous breath

I cough

I hate to do so

Coughing increases the

Putrid ness and temperature

Of the bile that


To turn my insides out

And force me through

Narrow eyes and clenched teeth

To kneel

At porcelain urn

Three nights now

Light on sleep

Heavy on discomfort

A broken body wracked

With worry and stress

Where are you God?

Did you not see me

Last night, in your house

Yes, almost falling asleep

But still

I was there.  Were you?

And why is it easy

To sleep in your pew

Yet in my bed I

Toss and turn

Each night – cocooned

In pain and consumed

By anxiety, misery and

The omnipresence of


I need sleep

I would cherish sleep

Even, I say, eternally.


~     ~     ~     ~

About the Author ()

My trade and I parted ways... I am now a Geography Major at UNC. And I am still a Christian Cowboy Werewolf Writer, Poet & Photographer.

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