Virus Poem by Derrick Andrews

Wisps of brownish red haze invade and poison my body.
Control of emotions vanishes, logic sizzles away under the heat of the moment.
Weakened knees and a failing heart plague me.
The presence of the stimulus further agitates my condition.
My body and mind are giving in, the sickness is winning.
It's as if I'm watching a hopeless fight,
Forced on the side of the lesser beings.
But yet, I possess this misleading obsession with the pain it brings.
I watch my blood run slowly with a smile on my face.
I adore it. I purposely expose myself to the cause, pleading for more.
It is out of my control. Above my decision; yet I find myself craving it more than the breath I take.
On the verge of climax, I paint the walls with my blood, drowning in its sweet scent.
I am compelled to rip the flesh from my very bones.
No. I'm yearning for it.
I must feel it. The blissful, sensual pain. The source of my joy.
I make a small incision in the center of my chest with a knife and slowly open the wound with my bare hands.
Forcing my hand inside, I squeeze my heart with all my strength, wrenching holes with my nails, and twisting it in place.
I grit my teeth as my eyes roll back from the unbearable pleasure it creates.
As my breath is violently taken from my lungs, I erupt into an incomparable sea of red passion and collapse.
The virus didn't take my life. It was my life.