Chronically Ill

Shame decorates my face
like henna &
bitterness poisons my blood
the pressure is sometimes
Inexplicable but always fucking

When I reflect on my inner world
& how it has not
changed from this sparkling fantasy
to what it’s really supposed to be
The reality is that
I am running mazes constantly

How plain can it get?
My music bursts the eardrums. . .
it furls the tongue ///
& I would never wish this on Anyone


5 thoughts on “Chronically Ill

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