Sick.
Cough.
Sneeze.
Groan.
Sick.
My sick is different.
My sick follows me like a dark cloud every second of every day.
My sick stalks me like a lion, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Sick.
My joints ache as I walk, but I keep walking.
My stomach burns as I eat, but I keep eating.
My insides scream as I smile, but I keep smiling.
Sick.
I keep the sick hidden under a smile.
I accept it as my best friend and worst enemy.
I have learned to be tough so I won’t become my sick.
Sick.