I’ve to fight a thought so grim

that the devil is,before my eyes,

a pit full of nothingness.

Prior to I being sick,

I was a happy chap who always loved a chat.

Now I’m as sick as a pneumatic patient

skipping medicine at a ward.

At the expense of promising a nurse

a good life because his bank account remains


I on the other hand,

though I fear getting tubercolosis,

I’ve to confess to you that I’ve

given up on popping pills,

and you may soon find yourself singing sad

songs at my funeral.

My bosses pop-up at my ward frequently

like pop-up dolls,

Like they’re sure that I’ll be fine soon.

No man tells them how I bribe myself out

of medicine bottles.

How I flush all of it when no guard is watching.

I may be able to pay the state nurse to give me

a clean bill of health.

But, as you read on you come to realize how

my stupid actions worry a lot of people who

care not only about their well-beings but mine.

I may be robbing myself of a happy,

everlasting life with a wife and a bunch of kids.

So they say.

I may be secretly harbouring thoughts of betting

for the other side.

So they gossip.

They could even say it to my face.

I care less these days because

my coughing or sickness is of the chest

and not of the mind like they.

I’ve come to make friendship of evil nature

with the nurse because I’d wait and wait

on my self-made death bed but still I see

no visitors.

I only will decide what to do

with my life.

Everyday I watch them trembling,

Shaking like my medicine free lungs.

Over a man they never liked.

I have to self-destruct because they

fear a jovial me.

They’re just to happy to see a sick me

with lots of self-doubts.

A skeletal type of a man who

could hardly sit down or stand up.

I’m sick because of the environment they’ve

put me in.

I know a lot of me will just be happy at

they being able to point a finger at others.

I used to be healthy and when I was,

when I glanced at my wristwatch to

extablish what time it was,

then at their sad faces full of worry

and scepticism,

I found myself wishing either of us

couldn’t have been born.

They in their talk,

when they think that there’s no more birds,

that walls are just stones and hard,cement plasters,

that’s when I lost my vitality.

My willingnesse to go on living rests on their shoulders,

and I can tell you that if God gave them their will now,

they’d just be glad to watch me take my last breath.

I know this sounds ridiculous if not horrific to those

who aren’t accustomed to the fact that some people

like to tell the truth no matter how sad it

makes others be.


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