They creak as they grind, cushionless, hard against each
other as I again force them to articulate
Well, of course they ache, especially long into those dark
and damp nights, as I lay nervous & awake
Stiff and inflexible, they make it hard to assimilate all
the new data that constantly assails me
Their pain suffuses my entire consciousness and thus, they
color all of my other thoughts
Arthritic memories, petrifying remains of actions I am now
glad I can no longer perform
Their hardening deformations give them an unnaturally
twisted and lumpy appearance
Their current importance and significance is merely due to
the unremitting pain they bring
I suffer them in silence knowing they are my only evidence
for a reality that I knew, so long ago
Their throbbing disrupts my sleep, making it even harder to
distinguish dreams from memory
They leave me unable to stretch out far enough or quickly
enough to be of any real use anymore
Nonetheless, their aching provides a throbbing indicator
that my consciousness still continues
Their sharp points of pain are overlaid on that whirling,
disappearing blur I know of as my past
Arthritic memories, hard and knotty reminders of accidents
that, though I did survive, I still regret
With any jarring actions, they swell and grow so painful as
to impede even normal movement
The balm of forgetfulness, so maddeningly effective in
normal life, cannot blot out their images
Their swelling calcifies into the grotesque shapes of these frighteningly pointless
nightmares of mine
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