Diabetic Poetry: The Low-Low

**Trigger warning: suicide, hypoglycemia, general inappropriateness, and death.**

I feel like shit, shit, shit.

48 is not the answer,
it is not the question,
it is just a number under 70,
a number that means
shaky limbs,
cold sweats,
jell-o brains,
wobbly, racing, thoughts,
and nothing and grumpiness
to you.

Sometimes, the roller-coaster feels like too much,
but the only way to get off is to die (for now).

Since I am not a DIY-er in the dying department
I’ll just eat a banana, and wait.

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