sick.

i have an illness.
a slow, debilitating complaint.
i feel it working,
it is alive within me.

tearing away, faster and slower,
making the act of reason
less and more intricate.

not all at once and not always,
just an erratic suspicion,
an awkward moment now and again.

but the sickness
is persistent and deliberate.
it slowly cultivates its
insidious patterns,
now affecting my thoughts
on its infrequent visits.

but,
i have risen above the ashes.
i now strive to realize
the moment of disconnect.

is it the important stuff
i lose grip of?
a sentence, a word, a face?
someone or something i love?

how long must i play?


byron gates jr

sick.

Byron  Gates Jr

Joined August 2008

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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