It’s not enough to be alone—
you’ve got to rub it in like salt
and it’s got to be hard enough
to break your lonely bones.
Writhe with life, you fetus of
this world’s womb,
and carve away at the night
with your swollen, watery eyes—
it’ll get you through the night, at least.
But what happens when the sickness
swallows you whole? And what happens
when you swallow the sickness whole,
with all its perks and disadvantages,
haunting your every move?
You ask for help, you don’t receive it,
and you go on living
your life.
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Submission Name: The Neverending
