Out of place

Here we go again.  Back in the place where they torture hope.
Waiting for my numbers in some perverse kind of lottery.
Fate written in a computer print-out, a lab report, a post it.
Shrodinger’s baby, neither dead nor alive until that next scan.
How can I possibly make those 48 hours pass quicker?
In a previous life I would have filled this hole with alcohol.
Instead I’m just left with my unstoppable thoughts.
And the soft lonely splintering of my heart.

© Catastraspie, 2017.

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2 Responses to Out of place

  1. Deb Johnson says:

    Oh dear, kind, sweet and thoughtful you… What feeling is held in those few words, what hope… My heartfelt wishes for safety, good health and good news dear lady. Breathe in the love of your family and breathe out those sharp, splintery thoughts. Everything is ‘meant to be’ by the time Schroedinger gets into the picture! But somewhere, nature and the whimsies of the Wyrd can catch us out… Big Love girl xxxxx

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