Run away,
From what they say?
Myself...
I'm tangled, strangled by this disease,
It's eating me, alive.
It takes and it feeds,
Devouring with greed,
My body and mind.
Starved for faith, in something,
Anything,
That can calm the devil in me.
Six feet under,
Down the rabbit hole,
Below and above,
What's the difference?
When you're sick in body and soul.
Endometriosis.
Is this my diagnosis?
Endo what?
New to me but old for my body,
Since puberty?
Maybe all this time
It wasn't my fault.
The pain, the insanity, the sickness,
Testing my limits and I've found the weakness.
My genes broke me,
My gender failed me,
My doctors ignored me.
No absolution, no resolution,
Pills of plenty, injections galore,
No mention, no warning,
For a possibility of cure.
I have no idea how to deal with this,
I feel alone, dead.
Uncomfortably numb in this shell of a body,
My eternal tomb.
Two surgeries down, but uncertainty screams.
I can still feel the pain,
Post-traumatic stress,
From being close to the brink.
Three hospitals, crying for help,
Wheelchairs and Tylenol,
Nurse, nurse, doctor, nurse,
Spit me out faster than you can chew,
Or I burst,
Into flames.
The pain cut through me worse than 10 knives to the back,
Blood poured out of me,
Like fountains and pools.
Cots hurt, especially for the dying,
But there's no beds tonight.
Bare corridors, flickering lights,
Finding truth or more confusion?
1 in 10, yet I had never heard a word,
It took almost dying before getting heard.
I never wanted this,
I never wanted this body.
Sick to death,
Ill to my grave?
Is this all there is?
But they don't hear,
What they can't see,
And they can't see,
What only I feel.
Dead.
