Limb Lazarus

By Oshi

You have done it again.

One hour in every two

you create me–
A sort of perpetual slumber ritual.

Change your pillow and posture,

Don’t I terrify?

Yes, yes boy it is I.

Do you deny

the numb, burning zombie

transmuted from your arm?—

overnight, slowly,

discreetly, very painfully;

when your pillow and head

squash my being.

Restricting the blood.

Your stubborn comfort


on staying put

over crushed arteries and veins.

Needles and pins pierce through pillow

as my skin makes room.

It’s the second hour,

and like the cat, I have nine lives to live.

This is number two.

“Resurrect us!”

My vessels scream and scream

To your night dream.

Push me please,

so that my knuckles kiss the carpet.

The pain will cease

as the red tsunami baptises

shoulder to finger,

phantom to flesh.

Needles and pins

beware, beware.

Out of the ash carpet I rise,

born again, no surprise.

“A miracle!” You’ll  shout

As my blood knocks you out.

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