My Mortal Friend and I.
Crushingly brutal, this wasting disease,
That it eats through me with increasing ease.
Oh, in the painful rigidity of lack luster limbs,
My mortal friend still fights, still clings,
As world passes by on the summer breeze.
Who would have thought I would suffer this young,
With a mortality so terse and highly strung.
Inside of a sickness, with it's wide open jaws,
I am gripped so tightly by it's hungry claws.
Yet I don't know how all this has begun.
Here I am fighting, again and again,
Just for the chance to feel alive once again.
Each moment of weakness, of faintness and ill,
I long for my mortal to bend to my will.
As I ask for my body to burden the strain.
So what it comes down to, my mortal and I,
My body is broken, yet no one knows why.
So, I cling to this life and it rejects my requests.
I suppose I am my mortal as mortality suggests.
But, surely I can fight. Surely I can try.
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