Oh, Sciatica. The nerve of you.

Why do you own me and keep me on the shelf while digging deeper in? I am so over you and yet you continue to control my life. You are such a pain. I can’t forget you, no matter how hard I try. When I sit, it reminds me of you. So, I stand, and that reminds me of you, too. Sit or stand? Stand or sit? To wit, you are under my skin. So be it. Four more weeks of your games. Only a shiny white pill can stifle the pain. Just a temporary fix drives you into the shade and deadens the searing hot burn that fosters the flame.

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