Mercury Rising

I’m vibrating under the weight of the sheet,

waiting for the shiver to turn into sweat.

The air in the hallway is heavy with heat,

but I haven't quite started the burning-out yet.

I couldn't find the one with the digital beep,

so I’m holding the glass stick under my tongue.

I hear the click of my teeth, a dangerous keep,

like a secret I shouldn't have told while so young.

The silver line climbs through the numbers like rain

running upward to find where the clouds are all black.

It’s a measurement meant to categorize pain

and tell me there isn't a way to turn back.

One hundred and two. The plans that I made

are melting away in the back of my throat.

I’ll watch the light on the ceiling fan fade

and sink like a hole in a very small boat.