Words of the Soul

32.

(12.20.20)

I am suffering

From a terminal illness

Though invisible

To a passerby

It is there

Always there, lurking

Inside of me

Tainting my thoughts

Nibbling at my soul

Destroying me

From the inside

Out

The curse of

My own mind

Programmed to fight

Against itself

Flawed creation

One that is irreplaceable

Cannot throw it out

Or order new parts

Must stay

With the defection

So, I keep on

With my

Terminal

Illness