Sickness

"And my head told my heart Let love grow But my heart told my head This time no This time no" -Winter Winds by Mumford & Sons

This sickness.

Oh, this vile disease.

It's tearing me.

Tearing my insides.

Tearing my mind.

Oh, my soul.

My soul hurts.

My heart is broken,

ripped,

shattered,

torn.

This bed I lay in,

is the only comfort,

the only fix,

to my weak body.

My weak mind.

My weak soul.

There's this comfort,

that's also Hell.

It burns against my back.

My legs feel on fire.

The phone in my hand is heavy.

This.

Do I really want to go

back.

Back to this?

Back to her?

My head

told my heart

yes.

But my heart

told me head

no.

I type out,

"Take me back".

I want to send it,

but something is stopping me.

I'm stopping me.

I erase it.

We were perfect.

You were perfect.

I loved you.

But instead of

loving me back,

you threw this on me.

This sickness.

Oh, this vile disease.