My Sickness

There it goes...
Racing outward as if it were afraid.
With it goes my pale, loving face,
And created a reddened mess
Why must I do this?
How is beauty created this way?
I'll never know,
But continue regardless.

Here we go again,
I am back in this similar room;
This gleaming, little room.
I won't stay for long.
There isn't much to leave today,
Just a second-
Now it's all done.
If I lift my face,
Surely I'll see my demon:
My reddened, blurred self.

Perhaps one of these days I will glance up,
Think maybe my demon has left.
Or maybe he shall continue to haunt me for the rest of my days,
That is my fear, you see.
This sickness, my sickness...
It's killing me.