Sick like me,
That’s what you are.
I’m attacked with
Illness.
It escapes from my every breath,
Ripping anyone apart who dares to come close,
Like a hem being pulled by a toddler, reckless and relentless.
You didn’t listen, and just look what I did, oh!
There are no words that can be written nor
brush strokes laid on canvas that can describe the stark and
Utter horror of the night that
You died from the very illness that
I’ve been tortured with for all these years.
It took you quickly, you succumbed to
The fate given to you.

I will not perish from this disease, no.
I tried to save you, to keep you from going under.
I tried to stop you from drowning in a black sea
But my touch had only
Helped with your demise.
The fault is mine, I take it like
A warrior who proudly takes the flag in a capture the flag round,
Except, I am not proud
Or waving it about.
It’s sick like me.
Disturbed beyond repair, doomed to an ever-lasting misery.
You saw the animal I’ve truly become in your sickness,
I saw yours too.
You couldn’t say anything, though,
I was ripping out your
Precious vocal chords, to save me from my
Very own sickness
That doesn’t have a cure.
Am I still beautiful?
Even though I’ve done what I’ve done
And killed one too many.
Am I still beautiful?