There is a plague
Within my mind.
Always gnawing.
Always clawing.
There is no cure.
Only brief respites.
It is ever present,
Though not always tangible.
This blight is many things.
Sadness.
Unmotivation.
Unending exhaustion.
It takes away your desire,
Even, you ability
To do things you enjoy
To be with people you admire.
It's so hard
To fight
An enemy that
You cannot feel or see.
Some days it sleeps.
Others, it roars with fury.
Its ugly head will rise
And lower at a whim.
And my problem?
I am very good with masks.
Most don't realize
When the plague is about.
There is no cure.
Only brief respites,
From this silent war
I'm waging with myself.
This plague is many things.
But finite is not one of them.
It seems infinite,
And I fear,
It is.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poems
PoetryHello! This book is filled with my poems! I used to have them mixed with my short stories, but for organizations sake, I decided to split them into their own books. Enjoy! This is updated spontaneously, so don't expect regular posts.
