The fatal diagnosis



Like in all fatal diseases,
you don't understand what's happening to you,
you don't recognize yourself,
you feel you are losing control
not only of your body but of yourself,
your mind is playing games with you
wreaking havoc in your world;
the most sensible and orderly become distracted,
sleeplessness is inevitable,
but the worst is the constant short cut circuit,
your brain going around like a washing machine
ever stuck with the same idea
that you brainwash yourself with
and can't let go of although it consumes you,
and that's the most serious symptom:
the self-consumption that you waste yourself with,
the most serious and hopeless of addictions;
and there has never been a cure
except escape by death.
The diagnosis is fatal: you are doomed,
your affliction is the worst one possible,
you'll never get rid of that addiction
which constantly has to worsen
your case in hopelessness and downfall,
for there was never any cure for love.




Poetry by Christian Lanciai The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2009-01-09 at 10:26

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Oh I wish you were wrong Christian! I'm doomed, I always knew it, when I last recognised myself!lol Lovely diss ease it is too. Smiling at you, Tai
2009-01-13


Dee Daffodil
I can't argue with you on this at all...you are absolutely right. From the minute I started reading your poem I was thinking that "love" was the concern . Excellent write !
Hugs,
Dee
2009-01-12


normalil
Love or dementia Christian?
A poem of heartfelt doom, but I loved it.
2009-01-09