8 Fibromyalgia – Jason Waddle

It is morning, and
the day has rested–
I have not…
(Though I slept eight hours)
It’s a struggle through waves
of bed sheets as my muscles
have been overworked without
work. Exhaustion and gravity
allow for teaspoon-
size breaths.

The heart
palpitates, but it’s not love.
The inner workings of my
body are like cracked glass.
My bones chip away
like hammers. The echoes
of pain pass up and down
multiple fibrous hallways.
With weighted feet I walk with
pallor awareness that my shadow
on the wall is pain free.

Smiling, I wear the day in
whatever size it has, but it’s
always too tight, and so is
my smile.