Morning Surgery

“So, how are you?”

“Fine” I reply.

Well, that’s a lie.

I wouldn’t bloody be here 

If I was fine.

“What can I do for you today?”

Something, anything, HELP ME!

I feel horrible, I’m sinking,

I hurt all over, I’m  lost.

“I’ve been getting these headaches.”

“What kind of headaches?”

The sort that swamp my body,

ones that  imprison me in bed,

suffocating drowning headaches.

“Kind of here.” I indicate my temples.

“Um,” she nods wisely,

“I’ll write you a prescription

for some painkillers.”

They better be good,

Can’t you see I’m not coping?

“Thank you.” I mutter,

taking the paper from her hand.

Why can’t she see? Bitch.

Why can’t I say? Stupid stupid cow.

I weep all the way to the chemist.