Parkinsons for Me

I think I know what the problem is, but I canít hear past the voices in my mind.
Sometimes they whisper and sometimes they shout but mostly theyíre just unkind.
Itís almost as if someone is watching me, and keeping tabs on all of my sins.
I canít really tell, did it start when I fell; It's like Iím wrapped in a blanket of pins.
If only the whistle would quit whining; It rings constantly in my ears.
I wake up in the night to delusions of sight, as I fight to control my fears.
The Grim Reaper might be standing at the end of the bed, with his sickle in his hand.
I react with my fists, Iím awake but asleep, when I swing itís on the floor I land.
Then there are the tremors and shakes, that keep you awake, until the early light.
You never dream or so it seems until the sun is really bright.
Still they tell me I am not asleep, and Iím never completely awake.
Falling from bed and landing on my head is the last mistake Iíll make.
Thereís a reason theyíre called hardwood floors, itís like running into a wall full bore.
My balance is gone and my hearing is wrong as I start my day once more.



Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Parkinsons for Me

61,957 Poems Read

Sponsors