This sickness

This sickness it quickens
Gets worse every time.
Gut wrenches
Stomach clinches
All u need is a dime
Hot flashes
Skin rashes
Headaches the mind
It slashes.
Can't sleep can't eat
Praying for death
With every heart beat.
The heater on high
The fan always blows
Will this b the last time
No one really knows.
Laying on the floor
Fragile hands search
For just one more.
One more brief pause
One more moment
Of clarity purpose cause
One more second of
Emotional release
One more minute
Of elation peace.
Crawling on hands
And knees
Thinking of the what when
And why
The should of the would of
The could have
But didn't
Now just wanting to get
Back even one minute
Never ceasing momentarily realizing
Our life is a waste land.