The Sickness

February 22, 2011
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I have caught a fever
Deep within
And it’s caught fire
Beneath my skin.
The sickness spreads
And the ugliness consumes
And turns me greyer
Than my tomb,
They cut my hair
And poke and bruise
I’m their pet -
Their toy to use,
They stole my voice
And all of my words
Closed off the windows
And killed the birds.
Now I’m alone
As the virus feeds
And the doctors clutch
At my heart that bleeds.
In their quest for “science”
They’ve let me die
It’s kind of funny
But I don’t know why.
The pain is gone
But why and how?
It’s getting dark…
I’m going now.
Death is not peace
And my mind is alive
Tough my body lies
Beneath their knives.
I hear their laughter
And I get the joke:
I was a torture victim
And my “sickness,” a hoax.
Its all very cold
In emotion and ice
You’d think that this holocaust
Now would suffice?
But I’m not the first
And I won’t be the last
So here is my warning
To save future from past.
If they tell you you’re beautiful
Then ask you to change,
If the stories they tell you
Are no less than strange,
If they make you feel violent
And horribly sick.

Believe me…
None of it’s real.
So run away, quick!

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