MRIs are the Worst

I’m going in again.
Back into that machine
that screams and clangs
and is the undisputed
source of my claustrophobia
eleven years running.

And I am so scared.
Scared they’ll find something.
Scared they’ll find nothing.
Scared that the process
doesn’t seem to bother anyone
beyond the inconvenience
it causes them.
Scared knowing that I’d rather
find out I was dying than live
another day like this.

What a sad state to be in.
A doctor’s note is the only thing
that stands between me and breakdown.

Make it all right.
Call me crazy
or sane and overworked.
Just say it’s something
because I’m scared
of that machine and
what it means and the
fact that it could mean
absolutely nothing.


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