Your body hurts with this incredible pain.

They ask how you are but fakeness is not far from your brain.

People all around, life still moving, still normal. Questions about your health, not comforting but rather formal.

Is this sympathy or empathy? Truly caring, or it it just courtesy?

When your mind is blurred and your body is worn, how do you stave off this feeling, escape the forlorn?

It’s hard to deal with illness on your own, trying to be friendly and chipper on the phone, trying to act normal as not to offend even though you are the one who is sick, why should you pretend?

You feel terrible and tired, fever making your brain feel re-wired, the sleepless nights, the compromised personality, you don’t feel like you and it’s such a travesty.

It will end in one way or another, maybe in a few days, maybe only in the next summer, but one things for sure you can only count on you, because people may say they are there, but is that absolutely true?

Written by me 🙂

Hoped you like the poem, apologies for not posting regularly recently I have been under the weather xx

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2 thoughts on “The sickness- a short poem

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