I sit here living with a sickness in my head. My throat is infested with white hills of puss, it is blown out of proportion, and water can barely make it through. I have to take the serendipity of medications in all its fungus glory. A white powder compressed in pill form to result in a bitter taste on the back of my tongue. My lips are cracking yet sticky. They have the lubricated saliva caked in the corners, and spilling occasionally.

Earlier today wonderful thoughts of cars marking my body with the tread of their tires, or a sniper from a tower about to lazer point my forehead, came to me. I laughed with agony in my ears, and my body craving the ground to lie on. Illness is the human's ultimate weakness. Wishes of death just to escape the agony of swirling viruses and bacteria is pathetic yet true.

As the misery strangled me, and took its long tongue to penatrate my brain, I was in withdrawl of him. I wanted him back to hold me while sick, and comfort me while my body cried. For I will endure a million like illnesses to be with him again. He is my medicine, but not for misery. He gives me the ultimate relaxation, the mere cheesy lines of, love.

<< Pacing >>