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The Sickly Enjoy Getting Sick

Poetry By: Kathleen Megquier

Just some thoughts and metaphors on why I'm so hung up. Enjoy.

Submitted:Jul 22, 2012    Reads: 5    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   

I cannot leave this place.

The words I speak are honest and true.

I wish whatever had been tied so tightly around my skull were just mere overzealous thought and pure love for the thespians.

But it is not.

What I hold is something sickly.

The world's strongest prevention for humanistic happiness.

I cannot surpass it, living without it would be as what commands Man to breathe suddenly cease.

What have you?

A blue body on the ground.

I flip back to the crinkled pages that depict my healthier and more fruitful side to this sickness, to the beginning, when things didn't seem so fatal.

The kisses were innocent, the lunch outs without condition, a simpler time before the infection took on full force.

My brain is it's base, the foundation for where it lay.

My body will soon become the mighty vessel that destroys us all.

No more thinking, just a constant demand for eating, as my skin grows ruff and my hair starts to fall in tuffs, I shall then know the clock has truly started ticking.

What use to be my saving grace is now the ogre like reflection I keep such strong distaste for.

The corridor now is collapsing within itself, I try to stay strong.

Though I fear whatever has kept this chest beating has decided soon to drum it's last song.

As I fall aimlessly with the debris, I can only smile and think that the catastrophe you have caused has only sufficed as background music to the hearts you demolish without a single motion of one's eyes.


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