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The Sickness

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You have taken away my rhyme...
I have no words that match each other.
there is a place in my heart that is filled,
Which normally held said rhymes...
Now I sit with a pen and paper,
Or the new millennium's equivalent,
And I realize just what it is that has me.
I have been struck with the plague,
That sickness from within.
It grasps me, and nearly chokes me,
For I will not let the noise slip out.
I sniffle and i snore,
With the exhaustion it entails,
but the sickness will last despite all.
I am afraid that it is fatal,
For it must die for it to stop,
Someday i assume it will...
but perhaps I will never be cured.
this disease that has consumed me,
It has eaten me free of rhymes...
It has eaten me free of many things...
And it does not chain me.
Its lets me breathe, just not in the same way.
it lets me see, through different eyes.
It lets me hear, but the sounds are muffled.
It lets me speak, but I have nothing to say.
this sickness... will not let me be...
And it is the constant reminder that you...
You are the sickness within me.
And it's the best I have felt, in years.



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