I don’t know what this is,
But it’s the best that I can manage.
This jotting down of words,
Just a symptom or the bandage?
Well no matter what, you see,
When you gaze upon my face,
When the light’s disappeared,
And I\'m gone without a trace.
No matter what I say,
No matter how much ink I spill.
Know, husband, I love you,
I’ve just been a little ill.
No cough rests on my chest,
But my lungs don’t work the same.
I\'ve been choking on our air,
Just trying to say your name.
My temperature is fine,
But when I’m lying in your bed,
Shivers course down my spine,
Fear. We’re hanging by a thread.
In truth I love your all,
In ways I cannot express.
My arrows, they fly but fall,
Carrying love I cannot profess.
I wish I wasn’t so enthralled,
By whom I\'m destined to depress.
And so I never make that call,
For fear your love will just regress.
But on safe pages I can scrawl,
Slowly starting to undress.
Such that you might see my all:
My loving hands, bound by illness.