My complexion shall redden,
As if a plague was caught.
My eyes will dim and deaden,
From my hands, fingers will fall.
Demons will see me and know Armageddon.
I will cover with a shawl
As my hair falls out.
Even inside, poison will replace gall.
Boils will pain and my mouth will gout.
Once soft skin, now will flake.
Side pains will stab until I shout.
All this I wish to trade for this ache.
I doubt my steps, my choices, myself.
All I feel is my hands tremble and my knees shake.
Playing with terza rima and serious anxiety. Not my favorite product but I figured I'd put it up anyway. Best not to think and just do at this point.
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