********************
I don’t like it,
So if that’s what this is,
Its hold on me,
Has got to give.
********************
Oh yes,
You bet it’s true,
Heart disease,
Is a most deadly killer,
But it’s not about that organ failing,
On which I stake my complaints,
I’m meaning more toward,
When it’s bruised and torn,
And makes us want to wail,
Because someone else,
Has made it mourn.
Such a deadly disease,
That eventually,
Befalls us all,
And sad but true,
If it hasn’t yet,
It’ll get you too.
Its fatality rate,
Is not known,
But if I were to debate,
On if it’s high,
I’d push to the affirmative,
As even though,
You may be alive,
You can’t really live.
Though able to move freely,
You’re paralyzed,
From a brain swirling,
With flashbacks of lies.
A smile that,
Goes on for miles,
Suddenly replaced,
With a wan face,
Brought on by nausea,
From that tormented mind,
And now your days are trials.
Years of torture,
Had fucking well better not be my future,
Knock on wood,
That it doesn’t take,
Much time to heal it,
Because I’m sick to death,
Of feeling like shit.
********************
I don’t like it,
So if that’s what this is,
Its hold on me,
Has got to give.
********************
Original Poems And Short Stories 