HIV is a nightmare. It is not a life. The disingenuous rhetoric that the suffering is now a controllable management machine, pop the pills, prest-O change-O, you are not cured. Cope. Here it comes: First, you lose family. Then, people you thought were your friends have disappeared. Now, you know. Stare at the wall. Drink directly from the blender container. Vomit the pills, you can’t see (complete blur) them to count them anyway. Bone replacements. Skin eruptions. Clinical depressions. Pneumonias. Fungal infections. Gout. Heart disease. Addiction. Impotence has the widest set of dominos that when assembled, plays havoc with your life, not as a physical condition, not a sense of powerlessness, but powerlessness, they can do anything they want to you, you are completely objectified (he did it to himself), loathed. Still, today, most doctors will not treat you. Nurses, too. And then, it’s public health. No job. No money. Snap is three dollars of food a day. Rent. Meds Public Health will prescribe are not within reach. You are alone. You are hated. It’s gotten better. It’s just not true for the impoverished among us, people who are poor on a good day. How dare they want more food. Fear is the Ruler of this World, and all you want is STIGMA OUT. Quick! Call the ambulance! Men with HIV have an elevated rate of suicide twice that of the normals. Who knows what is normal. Perhaps pain. It has the ring of complete defeat. MORE PILLS! OVER HERE! Suicide is up to you. Until it isn’t. Startled by the hollow dark, time and desire, finally end. Ripped from what we cannot forget. Three nights without sleep. No one ran to keep up with a river of it.