A sickness rises from my stomach
Through my chest, into my throat, making a mess of me
(i refuse to let it spill from my mouth)
Sometimes it’s all i can feel
It becomes a comfort, and one of many fears
I am distressed that i may be obvious, pesky, and ignored
But my heart fell from my sleeve long ago
And my own feet tread over it.
Silence burns in my throat and compresses my chest
Words that refuse to be said haunt my thoughts
The ringing in my ears is ever-present;
Nothing is loud enough, and silence too often deafens me
Harshness radiates from me, unwanted, but always lingering
My existence is much too clumsy.
My vanity vies for attention (and is abrasively rebuked by heart and mind)
Heart and mind are always at war, united only against me
Laughing used to help,
But it’s not that funny anymore
It hurts.
I don’t like being sick
(but i don’t try to get better).