Today I felt ill. In a state between consciousness and silence, there was a stumbling me. As I dizzily made my way to the bathroom, my body was on fire and one glance at the mirror had me staring back, through blood.
As I walked, bones broke. As I touched, felt heat instead of skin. It’s not pleasant. And at that state of mind, one of a boiling egg, I started vomiting words.
Happens a lot.
Though not particularly often in given situation. But I listened. And then wrote, surprisingly steadily, knowing that five minutes ago I had to lean against walls.
At first I thought I was writing about my physical symptoms but later on felt something more. The anxiousness of my life fell directly into the same lines below.
The body was on fire;
Awaiting death or
Burning with desire;
The eyes shot blood
And traced it;
While step by step it
All becomes too wasted;
The only difference was that after a few days, the physical symptoms will pass.