Myself the Ailment

My organs are plagued with a sense of longing 
My heart pumps a venom that kills my liver

I am constantly unbalanced 
My head is on a swivel too fast to stop;

My stomach is flooded
I am filling slowly from the inside with tears
Assuring there is no more room for you

I am the ailment
You were always the cure.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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