from the moment,
such bright brown eyes
opened to view the world,
illness
acted as a close
companion.
she spent her days
in bright colored beds,
on tissue papered
chairs and attached
to medications,
respirators,
inhalers
icky cough syrup
and smeared
substances
with traces of
mint.
every school year,
it was a contest,
a game she often played
how many times
could she stay away?
when would the sickness
be the fool
and not the ruler?
when could she call the shots
instead of taking injections
to fight its virulent grip?
even as she grew older,
her skin grew colder,
the very blood in her veins
rejected her so,
in such a way
that summers were glacial
and her winters were
unbearable.
it felt as though death were a witness
constantly knocking at her door.
the pleasures of hunger,
were only a reminder
that food was a mere match
to the flames of discomfort.
how she slept at night,
knowing her loved ones
constant in a state of fright
that she may not wake up
one day from her slumber,
is one of the questions
with no apparent answer.
a bottle to aid in sleep,
a pill to survive the day,
a cup of tea to last the night
and tears wiped away,
how the little girl inside
wished to be in good health,
instead of sitting here,
curled up against the comfort of plush
pouring words into paper,
hoping for a way out of herself.