Sick

Disease, it was planted

to grow beneath my skin;

my blessings were tainted

by some sort of sin.

my coughs not contagious

to the physical state,

but should you sneeze a sorrow

it's already too late.

this illness spreads like weeds,

unless no one can tell...

so I pretend i'm no victim,

to feeling unwell.

still I lay myself on bedrest,

while they wonder why;

because I wear a smile,

whenever someone walks by.

my poor bones, complaining.

my skin dulling pale.

with no strength in my soul

my body becomes frail.

as to not share my sniffles,

I quarantine myself away...

to suffer as they wonder

why I am this way.