Life Death And Lethargy Poem by Ivy Beam

I know what it's like to be sick,
to have three options
and take your pick,
these days drip slow:
I go further down;
too far below.

I paint my bruises and feel the welts
these burns, I'm certain
have never been felt.
Lone I quiver, let
no one see,
Keep my chest locked
with an intricate key.

These days will pass,
they always do;
I fight these days by
forgetting what's true.
and I never let
there be a witness,
to my very own secret
sickness.