Sickness

I supsect what really got you sick
was loneliness

Its hands wrapped around your lungs and squeezed so tight
you couldn't fight; you couldn't breath
you coughed and hacked your way to oxygen

Its claws tore at your thinning skin so fiercely
a Band-Aid and some Bactine couldn't fix it
a marring red that migrated with your fever

It clenched your stomach and ripped your innards out
you curled on the couch and sighed
misery making misery worse

I suspect what really got you sick
wasn't strep throat or penicillin
but loneliness and deadened dreams