This plague is disastrous...
No casualties quite yet,
But my skin does bubble,
And my soul itches constantly.

I'm sure you're somewhere,
Doing something with someone,
Letting me drop so far
Into your unvisited archives.

Back with the forceps,
And your grand confusion,
Of who or what you thought
You needed to be.

The cough has calmed,
Dreams grow a little strange,
I think of you only once in a while,
But you still are my plague.