i am fighting a disease,
so i became a ******.
my drug of choice: just to run.
to run each day with an unfeigned grit.

the medicine for my mind.
no need for a doctor to fill the prescription.
my morphine.
my high.
ease my anxious mind
and uplift my heavy heart.
calm floods my insides,
immersed in quiet rapture.
****** exhaustion settles in
and silences the disease-
those incessant, enslaving urges that regulate my every move
are replaced by stillness.
this
is bliss.