It’s waiting to take over my whole body. It already has my
eyes, my arteries, and most of my stomach.
I know if I could just get rid of it,
get it out of my system, I would feel
so much better. I could go on with my day,
unencumbered by the sludge creating
a pit in every part of my body.
I could speak without the fear of black bile creeping up my throat
erupting on to anyone passing me by.
I could see without squinting through the liquid
oozing down the front of my skull and into my eyes.
I have been trying to find someone to help me
wring out my lungs so I can breathe again.
I think that everyone can tell just how vile
this feeling is. I’m absolutely covered in it.
No one wants to touch me, and I get it.
I don’t know how much longer
I can go on like this.
I can barely form a thought that’s not clouded by it.
If I had someone to share this feeling with, I think it might cure me,
or at least maybe someone would feel the same way that I do.
No one can tell me what the cure is,
maybe there isn’t one.
But there has to be.
I can’t be the only one. Someone must know how to
fix it. I heard somewhere this feeling is supposed to be
warm, and make you glow from within.
If I’m glowing, it’s from the radioactive slime lining my skeleton.
The love I have for you sits unused in my organs,
slowly rotting them away.
Every compliment I can’t give eats away
another piece of me. I’ve tried to stop.
I’ve tried to get you out of my head and my heart, but it’s
too late. You’ve metastasized, and now there’s so much
within me, I fear I’ll never be fully rid of it.
I want to tell you how I’m feeling, but I fear the rejection might
detonate me on the spot.
When people said, “lovesick,”
I didn’t know it would be like this.
Katelynn Jordan (she/her) is a university student currently completing her Bachelor of Arts in English Literature in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. She loves her cat Fletcher, the way you can take words and create a whole new world, and coffee in any form.
Featured Image by Averie Woodard.
