Vent Poems

58sick

Sometimes I am my biggest sickness
I spread the wrong type of words
And it pinches my stomach
I try to avoid being sick
Trying to plan everything out ahead
But that only ends up making it worse
My body paralyzed in its own skin
Made from a soup of its own blood
I want to get out of this state I swear
But every time I try I fall back harder
Blacking out yet still hyper aware
The sickness
In other words
Me