Disease

We wait, at any time we could be in this place that only fear and loathing know

It slowly eats away at the flesh that once smiled, once lived

The very same flesh that loved and knew love to be a perfectly good reason to hide

Hide away from the world the secret darkness that ate from within

the unwanted house guest who always seemed to know the worst time to make an appearance

The hours spent writhing in a sickly sweet sweat and contortions too bizarre to be natural

Staring at the ceiling asking the light why

The searing pain that will always return to you like a stalker that just loves you so much

they couldn't imagine leaving you, not ever.

So we trudge on begrudgingly, hoping that though we lost the battle that we not lose the war

Dear god don't let us lose the war, the suffering must stop sometime...

It has to, right?