Cut19 Affiliate Disclosure

Immune Disease — Poetry

Heath Wellness Disease Cut19

I never really need
the weather forecast
to tell me it’s
going to rain.

I can tell by the way
my joints hug each other
too tight for comfort
to keep each other
from getting wet.

Time is not linear
when you are aching.

Agony speaks
through the tiles
when more than my feet
hit the ground.

I feel like a
sack of potatoes,
expired before my age,
when I weigh down in my bed,
among the ghosts of those
who have lived before me.

They carry their
own experiences
with physical limitations.
And when the sandman
finally reaches my doorstep
and rocks me to sleep,
my soul is set free
from its physical chains.

S.A. Quinox

2 thoughts on “Immune Disease — Poetry

  1. L.E.

    Love this!

  2. L.E.

    Perfectly expressed. Beautiful. <3

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