you always said that my insides were
littered with ash from my weak bones
and i was taking in carbon monoxide
instead of pure oxygen; you always
said that the black plague would spread
from my mind to my lungs to my mouth,
and now i can't seem to stop lying
about not hurting; you always said
that i would be a fallen soldier in a fight
for the strong and now i realise you were
right, because it curls its wisps of sickness
around me, until i am being crushed under
a d e a d weight,
but the black plague that has spread
from my mind to my lungs to my mouth,
will not let me breathe out the truth now,
and i will not give in and tell you that:
i am not okay.
i will not hand you a victory in your words.