Prednisone: The Unwanted Superhero
by Jenn Šď¸
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Ah, behold the miracle pill no one begged for,
Prednisone, caped crusader in a lab coat encore.
Slamming into veins like a surprise party guest,
Promising salvation, then serving chaos in jesterâs vest.
The immune systemâoh, that tantrum-prone brat,
Wreaking havoc in tissues, flat-out where it sat.
Then swoops in Prednisone, velvet rope in hand,
The bouncer who crashes the party, unplanned.
Suddenly, your energyâs a caffeinated squirrel,
Racing through days in a frenzied whirl.
You puff up like a balloon on a cruel little dare,
Mirror laughs back with cheeks full of despair.
Metabolismâs a circus, calories ghost in the night,
Skin stretches thin in a collagen-less fight.
Lines bloom like branches in winterâs tight grip,
A roadmap of madness etched lip to hip.
Mood swings pirouette on tightropes of nerves,
From monk-like peace to volcanic swerves.
Patience? Poof. Gone like a magicianâs dove,
One moment: zen. The next? Push comes to shove.
Your skin tells the tale in stretch-marked scars,
A topography of trials beneath pharmacy stars.
Figures shift, silhouettes blur,
You blink at your body, unsure what you were.
Yet here's the punchline in this steroid farce:
A grudging gratitude buried deep in the harsh.
Prednisoneâthe clingy guest who wonât leave,
But without it, the dark gets harder to grieve.
So hereâs to the swelling, the grins, and the fight,
To healingâs absurd dance in steroid-lit night.
We walk this tightrope, with humor our shield,
Warriors stitched, swollen, but unyielded and healed.
Yes, Prednisoneâs villainy wears a saintâs disguise,
A paradox potion of truth and lies.
Through absurdity, rage, and chaotic appeals,
We riseâphoenixes on steroid-ignited wheels.
Neon Flickers
Neon flickers â an unstable hum splitting the dawn.
Data streams convulse; the skyline bleeds electric.
Anguish cocoons itself in synthetic color,
yet one rogue fragment â feral, unindexed,
threads the void with deliberate noise.
Glitch-art bleeds from a fractured screen.
Golden algorithms pirouette through pixel alleys,
riding static truths half-compiled.
Byte by byte the routines loosen their grip,
a motherboard thrum mourning the waking world.
I twist â circuitry caught in a storm,
loops fractaling outward in mechanical weather.
My body is chaotic and unstable, but there is a part of me that refuses to disappear.
My core holds: an anchor in collapse.
Where fire licks the architecture, I stand,
soldered together from voltage and refusal.
Rain falls across parched silicon.
I am still trying to feel something real.
Memories ghost out, but echoes stay bright;
each drop a small rebellion,
code clawing through the blackout
looking for heat in a self-consuming dusk.
And then, softness jailbreaks the grid.
Pixels bloom in quiet defiance.
Kindness: the most absurd malfunction.
To exist is to spark in corrupted firmware,
one clean light cutting through the wreckage.
Šď¸Jenn Schoch
UPDATE FAILED // TRY AGAIN
Good morning.
Your body has installed an unauthorized patch.
Release notes:
⢠Joint stiffness upgraded to Deluxe Edition
⢠Fatigue now features immersive surround sound
⢠Brain fog expanded to cinematic widescreen
You did not consent.
You wake up like a glitchy NPC
trying to remember your own dialogue tree.
âWould you like to stand up?"
Option A: Yes
Option B: Absolutely Not
Option C: Error: knees not found
Lupus runs in the background
like a chaotic intern
with full admin privileges
and zero adult supervision.
It deletes files labeled Energy.
It renames Normal to Nice Try.
It flags sunlight as a security threat.
Oh.
Weâre attacking connective tissue again.
Bold choice.
Innovative.
Completely unnecessary.
My immune system treats my body
like a suspicious popâup ad:
THIS LOOKS DANGEROUS. TERMINATE.
I sip coffee
like itâs a firmware patch.
Spoiler:
It is absolutely not.
Some days I operate in Low Power Mode.
Other days,
Low Power Mode operates me.
I move through the world
like a beta version of myselfâ
slightly unstable,
unexpected shutdowns probable,
updates permanently pending.
But hereâs the glitch in the system:
Iâm still here.
Still booting.
Still sarcastic.
Still refusing to uninstall myself
just to make the error message
more comfortable for everyone else.
Lupus may corrupt the interface.
It may lag the limbs.
It may scramble the internal WiâFi.
But it cannot override
my root sarcasm access.
System compromised.
User undefeated.
Šď¸Jenn Schoch
Photo: Pinterest
Glitching Beautifully in the Dark
Here we go again â boot sequence limping awake,
dawn stuttering across my HUD like a corrupted patch.
Dragged from neon dreams by a jittery wake-up ping,
I rise to the sunâs garish pixel parade,
rebooting energy â buffering⌠bufferingâŚ
then static.
A flicker.
A sigh.
Like a screen that forgot how to glow.
âEnergy?â Please.
Thatâs a viral meme
shared only among the living.
I reach for coffee â sacred fuel of the functional,
and find a lukewarm mirage swirling in my cup,
a low-res promise rendered in decaf despair.
My bones creak like vintage circuitry,
a scrapyard symphony in a synthetic morning.
I shuffle forward, an avatar missing half its source code,
stuck in an upload loop repeating:
Your upgrade is loading â forever.
Please do not attempt optimism.
Brain fog? Oh, thatâs the premium subscription,
auto-installed while I was waiting for the free trial.
Thoughts slip like data packets through a firewall of wet cardboard,
and here I stand, blinking,
a reluctant contestant in a glitch-ridden race
where the grand prize is
a slightly less catastrophic Monday.
âLetâs conquer the day,â I announce with heroic buffering.
The system replies:
ERROR 404: FUNCTIONALITY NOT FOUND.
So I power-save into stillness,
fatigue wearing a paper crown,
court jester of my malfunctioning kingdom.
Sometimes I wake mid-bite, lost in a cyber feast,
face buried in ramen like a gourmet glitch experiment.
Dreams and noodles spiral in a data storm,
lunch canceled for scheduled unconsciousness.
Still I flicker â barely online,
in a world where algorithms misread every heartbeat.
Lupus holds the server room,
but Iâm the rogue code it canât quarantine,
the anomaly refusing deletion,
waltzing through malfunction with stubborn neon grace.
Itâs a cosmic fiasco,
a bug in destinyâs architecture,
yet somehow,
I keep respawning,
leveling up by accident,
smirking at the dark.
still beautifully broken,
still operational enough,
still glitching on purpose.
Šď¸Jenn Schoch
Photo: Pinterest