I keep telling myself that it’s getting easier.
But in reality, we couldn’t be further from the truth.
There are good days.
There are bad days.

Days when one has no will to wake up.
Breathing becomes a task instead of a natural habit
Hands that always shake
I don’t know how much more I can take

Between the aches and pains
I have nothing to gain
But more sleepless nights
And mood swings I have to fight

Tears spill down my cheeks
So worked up I’m unable to speak
Here on bended knees
Screaming out, “PLEASE!”

Whispering, “Please…”
“Save me from this disease.”
This sickness that eats me up inside
The very one I’m desperately trying to hide

With no other form of expression
I live with this secret called



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