The walls close in,
A reminder of sin.
The guilt consumes,
A monument, I presume.
The demons are chasing,
There is no escaping.
Everyone is a monster,
But you are a savior.
My breath is quick,
My brain panicked.
My body is trapped.
I say I need you,
you say okay.
I say I don't want to burden,
You say I don't.
Then where are you?
Never here.
I hope you are,
You never are.
I ask for you,
You never come.
YOU ARE READING
The Sickness
PoetryWe are full of rot. A slow rot that eats away at every single one of us like ants in soft, damp wood. Let the infestation thrive within. We are sick.
