The Chair

I sit in the chair, cold and hard,
A place where hope feels distant, scarred.
My companion, a bucket at my feet,
A reminder of battles I didn't choose to meet.
A book in my lap, pages unread,
Words blur while worries fill my head.
The drip begins, that familiar dread,
Poison in the veins to keep me from the dead.
Alone, though faces pass me by,
I watch the hours, the endless sky.
Fear coils tight, it doesn't let go,
As the silence hums, time moves slow.
This chair, this lifeless throne,
Once made me feel so alone.
But now, with each visit, I find,
A strange comfort that eases my mind.
It's steady, it's there, it doesn't judge,
Through sickness, through pain, it never budged.
I've come to welcome its stiff embrace,
In this room where I face the race.
So here I am, in the chair once more,
Fighting the battle I can't ignore.
It's no longer the enemy it used to be,
But a friend in this quiet war with me.