Disease. - Poem by Bailey Burris
Everyone has their disease, it starts in the mind,
It’ll twist, it’ll tease.
It mocks us in our times of need.
This thing we have is not deceased.
Like a demon, clawing into our soul
Eating the parts that keep us whole.
And while we watch, theres no way out.
No cleanse to stop this endless doubt.
We all walk around, spreading it about.
Yet, whose to know, they way it is spead,
When all we find is hearts that are dead
A touch of a hand, a subtle wink.
We’re not only diseased, but were killers, you see.
It’s not premeditated, or even second degree.
But we know it’s coming, it’s oh so easy.
But it’s not us, it’s the side effects
To the drugs we take to help detect
The feelings so deep inside
The feeling that want so bad to hide
Because those feeling, they’re the only one who knows
The out come of this, the way it always goes
But we scream and tug and beg them to come out
For what? To start this ridiculous doubt?
We’ll plead them to disappear so we wont be deeper captured
And muscle inside of us will feel as if its been ruptured
But it’s to late, the disease has spread
There is nothing to do, just wait till we’re dead.
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