Subdued and submerged,

This ballistic air bag of throbbing,

Just ready to blow.

All stuffed to its rim,

like an infected water bomb,

held back from exploding and chasing the bends,

by its chains - its anchor.

Just another cock up from nature,

and life's way of telling you to slow down.

Mood sinks.

Feelings sink.

Hardly any emotional response.

No want to do anything.

Previous atmosphere and scene is convenient,

to help numb out some of the drowsiness,

from the multiple attacks of the enemy at war,

who's almost won, while you hang on a thin line.

Aid from reserves in the field come.

Neurofen depth charges,

sent to silence the pain, the path of  invasion.

Antibiotics to slay and murder, but where are they now

as I slump with ill manner?

No reports. No signs of life. They must be gone or didn't get through.

Their army's swelling ranks  x  10.

Oh well, all chemistry to me.

This pain in my mouth,

like a hook or three,

dragging me further into the seas of abscessed tranquillity.

It is a sea of shattered illusions for now,

But a hot needle and flush are my last resort.

My nuclear weapon!

A mushroom of pus unfolds and grows and grows.

Making at last my float,

rise again without the bait

I've lost that one for now.