Illness is only that if you allow it to control your being. Trapped behind something that you can neither see or touch and yet it’s like the strike of a poisonous snake. It’s venom coursing through your body, taking every morsel of life with it. Unrelenting, unforgiving, unforgettable. Blinded by the darkness of unparalleled sorrow one tried to steal the hand of another so she won’t be alone only to realize that this feigned glory will lead to pits uncharted. Unable to recognize the damage that is done, the lonely, injured, damaged dive proceeds to flap her wings, hoping only for a moment to take flight, capture a weak heart, over come her illness
Tagged as: poem. depression. poetry. illness. adultry. pain.