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.