Illness Conceived Poetry

Feelings of a Rolling Sea

Unmotivated, shallow-breathing;

headache, neck-ache,

stomach–not an

ache but a rising and

falling sea;


not settling.

Excuses, Excuses

I just keep coming

up with excuses that this

sickness claims it’s own.

The Labyrinth

This labyrinth, this labyrinth

It tears at me

This labyrinth

Since when could I not skip

These trips and pits

I fall, I slip

Into and deeper

I am trenched

Deep down in this dark


(How do I | get out of | this labyrinth?)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s