Sunday, February 06, 2011

Backlog

It conquers me.
The pain,
Flows through my alveoli

It takes my soul.
My spunk, my appetite.
Gone with every momentary headache

It wants me to hide
From the rest of the world.
My left lung burdened
By the heaviness in my heart
Or from my heart--

As it is inflammed
With B cells and T cells and antibodies

That's why there wasn't a lot in my urine.

It conquers me. And I am defeated.

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