Below is the poem entitled This Sickness which was written by poet
Johnson. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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The slowly growing, rising, state of,
eating all that I am made of.
Multiplicating while debilitating,
ever is it always replicating.
I am crippling while its trippling.
Consuming as it so, so grows
and to ask why well, well no one knows.
I was a life filled person just the other day.
Now my spark has fallen to decay.
This withering rot,
its rotting my thought.
replacing it with
the weakness its brought.
The disease has found a place in me.
creeping through my cells quite so quietly.
It eats, it feeds, it plagues, it thrives.
Inside me where it multiplies.
it lets me know it's found it's home.
it lets me know I'm not alone.
It doesn't choose it doesn't feel.
It's most unbiased and most real.
It has no reason.
it does not care.
it has no meaning.