My darling, have you come
to hold my hand again?
You know I couldn’t fight this, so
You let me sit on your lap
Coughing up my rotted thoughts
Emptying myself of fear
“In sickness and in health”, you say
Clenching my feverish hand tightly
“‘Til death do us part.”
(You know I couldn’t disobey)
I need to taste your dry leather kisses
Inhale the medicating aroma
You push inside me
And my fever rises
You lick the buboes on my face
They crack painfully
You hold me down
“Hush. It’ll feel better soon.”
And morning came
I rise up
“Will I see you again?”
“Stupid child. I’ll never leave. Go now, and play in the sun. Forget that you’re sick for a while. And when those nasty rashes start to itch again, trust that I will be there to kiss them for you.”
I’m quite content with this piece. It describes the plague doctor as a symbol for the compulsions that haunt me – they won’t help cure me, but they’ll offer a temporary remedy and make the pain go away for a moment. That is OCD – my plague doctor, my trickster, pretending to help me while in reality just keeping me ill.
Also, this was inspired by this lovely piece of writing I found on deviantart (link) . One of my fave poems of all time, heavily touching.