A sickness deep inside me,

Undiagnosed and festering,

Bubbling to the surface,

A self-imposed purgatory,

Where I have no control.

.

My mind is absent,

My motivation away on leave,

Feeling a shell of my past self,

With only self-pity left for tonic.

.

The seasons past me in a flash,

The falling leaves rotting my soul.

Once friends now memories,

Fading with my last hope

.

I grow tired of imperfection,

When each day marks new opportunity.

I may fall foul of this poison,

But at least I will try to escape