self-diagnosis

i'm full of bees. there is a watermelon 
growing in my heart. single black seed took hold
& now i'm swelling. a whale is crossing 
my breatplate. a hurricane in my throat.
my sense of time is aching. i wake up 
in one week & go to sleep in another.
september is here to hurt me & i'm plagued
with june. a firefly slipped under my eyelids 
& now i light up all night. sit up in bed 
& try not to cry. i know this is a dramatic place
in the poem to pause & say i'm grateful for 
your company. will you drive me to the nearest
funeral home? i'm not ready but i have ideas
for my ashes. i want to become a shade
of ink or paint. stippling took over my face.
i probably need glasses either that or the world
is just getting more blurry for everyone.
why isn't sleep just a button we push
in the roof of our mouths. a ginger root exists
where each lung used to be. i have been trying
to make peace with my healing but i hate 
pillow & i hate pills & i hate being gentle 
with myself. how could i deserve that?
here i am with all these raccoon under my tongue.
i am scavenging for words. headache or brain pressure
or morgue or antidote or relief. come vaccine me
into a new year. i'm aiming for january.
i want to be alive by then. how long can i wait
for my body to be obdient again. all i'm asking for
is to control the masochism. i got am email 
that told me i'm overweight & i replied to the machine
"will you help me remove the whale or at least
the bees?" it isn't autumn yet but my hair falls out
like leaves. here comes the overcast. 
please lift me up like a charcuterie platter
& sample. tell, what do you think is wrong?