Sickness Grips

Copyright Tim

Sickness grips, licks, kisses,
Potential break-down imminent and I don’t care,
Just aim, shoot, end,
Fix your problem, kill the cunt,
Curse the college and cry your problems never cease,
Susceptible to failure and disdain, your eyes shut,
Open with wonder at a gleaming point far,
You run, trip, fall and burn in a place, you go deep down,
Fires and pain take you and swallow your grief,
It’s better, this way you know,
Jostled with torment and pushed with hate,
Itching with anger and scratching with a razor,
Undeniable rip in flesh, you control it, it is yours and only,
It ends it all, you fade, solidify in a place unfamiliar,
The whips crack and you cut again


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