This Sickness

Written by: Grobb Johnson

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.

This sickness,
it lets me know it's found it's home.
This sickness,
it lets me know I'm not alone.
This sickness, 
It doesn't choose it doesn't feel.
It's most unbiased and most real.
This sickness, 
It has no reason.
This sickness,
it does not care.
This sickness,
it has no meaning.
This sickness,