The Illness
I checked my phone
Still no responses
My friendships turned vacant.
Tears rushed down my face
As they did so many times before.
It couldn’t get any worse,
But how could it get better?
The sadness was an illness,
But I made sure it wasn’t terminal.
For a 10 year old picture
Of my mom and I
Kept me fighting,
And quite possibly alive.
Life improved
As it inevitably would,
But for some unfortunate few,
This illness still tortures
Their innocent Soul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem