The Disease

THE DISEASE

In the absence of wars and camouflaged corpses
I surrender to the disease
Throbbing backwards my heart hangs on in slow motion
Struggling to contain composure and remember its name
Traveling through French factories, exploring military museums,
Hibernating in caverns and sweating in tunnels it wants to stay pure at all costs
Would rather go down in flames than surrender to something in pill form
With time white waves will unveil what no one else could say
A simple screen with a mouth and eyes
Lips opening to make room
The roots of trees clinging viciously to old patterns in the soil
If it’s all true than these words are just for you