Something wrong is growing inside me
I do not know what to call it
Some days it feels like a thought,
curling itself around my ribs...
squeezing until breathing becomes something
I now have to remember.
it feels like a fever
My bones ache with things unnamed
My hands shake, chest aches
Stomach turns against me in an imaginary war
My heart forgets rhythm, racing as though
It knows something I do not.
YOU\'RE IMAGINING IT
Touching my forehead, wondering if the heat is real
trying to locate the sickness.
Is it simply a thought that has learnt to become a symptom?
i cannot tell anymore.
Sometimes I wish there was a wound, a scar, blood...
The proof that i am not making it up,
the proof that it is not in my head...
For a sickness with a name is far, far better
Than one without.