Phantom Limb

I  feel  an  itch,
a  tickle, a  stirring,
from a leg  that I  don't  have.
I feel a  tremble,
a  pain, a  rumble,
From a  non-existent place.

I  have  no  legs.
No  arms,  feet.
No  hands with  which
To  grab hold
Of the  tangible,
The  existing,  the  legitimate.

They  have  been  cut,
Removed,  and  dismembered
Away  from  my lifeless, pulsing eyes.
The  eyes  that  move  yet,
Flicker,  and  focus,
On  the  real
And  the  imperfect.

Yet the tremble,  the  pain,
The  non-existent  rumble
Tears ruthlessly  at  my  eyes.
It  makes  me see
The  depths  of  that
Which  isn't  there.

But  it's  there
In  my  mind:
The  Phantom  Limb
Which I  cannot  leave
Behind.

The  Phantom  Limb
Which  rots  my  muscles,
My  organs,  and  inner  self.
I  beg  the  amputation
Come  short  and  sweet,
'less I  continue  my  focus
On  The Phantom Limb.

I  pray  for  it
To  go  away,
To leave  me  to
The  horrors  of  my  mind.

But  the  Limb  is  my  brain,
And  my  brain  is  the  Limb.
Thus,  how  may I
Be  separate?