The Sickness


The Sickness

This parade of pain
inside like a virus
dont know how it got inside us
feels like an infection
ive lost all discretion

it has begun swelling

why the hell am i yelling
all this pain inside me
i feel like im going to burst

but this being the best i couldnt imagine the worst

always imaginging blood 
flowing from my head like a flood
am i going psychotic
or is it just the narcotics

and in my head are my hallucinations 
nothing more than my simple desperation
get too close and like the mad hatter
i will paint with your blood splatter

in my bones i feel an aching 
and in my soul this rage has got me shaking
crawling under my skin like maggots
the scratching becomes one of my many habits

i fight away this feeling, the itching
but i fear i will tear away the stitching
the scars seem to be bulging
this pain i am indulging

the ending i fear is rotted
these words like blood become clotted
and though i struggle through the stench
in your blood i will be drenched

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Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

caboose187’s Poems (24)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Blessed and broken 0
This Time 0
Wall Around My Heart 2
The Sickness 0
That's Life 0
Brutality 0
On the floor 0
Distrust 0
The Abyss 0
Dreams to Nightmares 0
honesty 1
Suicidal 0
Immortal 0
Destruction 0
Of Natural Mind 0
Werewolves 2
Lack Of Life 2
Driving Force 2
Dark Fight 2
Darkness 2
The Change 3
Pain of Losing Family 2
Start Over 2
Friends 2