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Ode to Friedreich’s Ataxia——–An honest lyrical poem about this disorder.

What have you done to me,you cruel bitch?

Curled fingers,slurred speech, locked pelvis,

Decaying muscles that twitch.


Attempted normality,

a scraping descent to those who drool,

Down with the card playing discards of life,

But just when, was I ever a more normal fool?


Hoists, paid strangers and gore,

Existence is far different from living,


 I don’t know what that word

means anymore.


Sexless, lifeless, long fingernails,

Cold and scabbed,

Trapped in my bed with handrails.


Events big or small are viewed or read,

From the cold confines of my bed.


Ungrateful am I?

To whom exactly?

A cosmic cloud, a light refracting?


Bedroom, studied wallpaper, empty roads, saviour sky

“pro life” sentiments croaked by worldly types,

Who stubbornly refuse to die


Will a cure for you ever be found?

Sealed memories of slippery grass underfoot,

Leaping, skyward bound.


Tortuous tomorrow’s that keep on coming,

Ramblings of an unemployable semi lout?

Uphill climbs and downward spirals,

Down, but never out!



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