IV Drip

Two forty five, my favorite time of night
60 milligrams past sleep
Nine hundred drips till three

I am in my paper bed, my paper gown
my paper frame of mind

And something has gone off within
sharp little drums are beating
a battle song
moving through my temples
every drip a violent beat on the timpani
of a panicking crescendo

I am shrinking, but its still growing
I am fighting, but its still growing
I am smiling, but its still growing

I am shaking
Living in an alarm clock
Perpetually ready to sound