Poetry

Sick

Sick 

The smell of it lingers 

Over my body 

Like thick fog

I am drowning 

In disease 

Wretched ache 

Fills every inch of my bones 

My head 

A throbbing web 

Of unuttered thoughts 

And 

Unbearable pain

Some days death is not 

The worst of life 



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Recent Posts

Explore

Explore