Saturday 26 March 2016

The Illness

Slowly I fade away
Like a fragrance that once was-

...And my mind moults speedily
Shedding off all that I am

Soon i won't recognise my mother
Or remember my nursery rhymes
Then the end when it comes
Will come by my hand

Och! The illness bores deep in my mind
And the cracks are bleeding
With thoughts.

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