it's not the fever that bothers me
it's the fear of looking inside my heart
and finding nothing
like some bad joke you promised not to tell
it's the mirror who's afraid of the reflection

I'm not worried about this sickness
it'll be temporary like my love
running across the ocean with free arms
never thinking to look back
and realize there's a past walking behind
slowly dying with each step

the symptoms are bad but they could be worse
they could rip your skin open
and let the humility rush out
onto the floor around trembling feet
wishing they didn't have to stand
for any of this
never getting along with the cold ground

it's bad but one day it won't be
my lungs will welcome air
like a mother's embrace
all the nights awake and alone
in sleep deprived dreams
will feel like something that never happened
passing like a siren which screams down the street
echos lasting only a few seconds
but not like a girl who sometimes
looks back
and remembers
like an old story
she heard long ago
some fantasy
existing somewhere