It is infected,
It starts to peel back from my skin,
It is infected,
It starts to rip apart my brain with fever,
It is infected,
It tries to bring me to my knees in an array of terror and pain,
It is infected,
I have it in a jar on my shelf, the black that it is,
It is infected,
Writhing and pulling into a ball it cannot escape,
It dies
Dead it is laying there lip, bloodied scab, shouldering my blame,
It died
I show it the meaning of survival, my brain’s scab is gone,
It is gone
I can think of my own, I am free of it,
Where do I go from now?