Sick
August 2011 (10th Grade)

I need to take a little breather.
Just thinking of you makes me sick.
Your memory makes my head pound.
That voice of yours knots my stomach in tiny, little bundles,
coaxed with acid produced by your mediocre laughter.
The smile that once eluminated my dreams,
now drowns my mind in an ocean of lost consciousness.
I'm starting to get sea sick.
My heart is ill.
My sanity is a bit under the weather.
I don't feel very well.
You're like a disease with no known cure.
Fatal and contagious as a virus.
My throat is parched from the thirst of courage to get better.
Your lakes, which you call eyes, are pulling me under.
They deprive my eyes of any light.
Not a single ray of faith.
Don't come to me with your big, brown eyes and try to cure me.
They are now melting into puddles of an icky substance.
The antidote?
Still remains hidden.
For you are the one who should have come down with a cold.
Henceforth, the ice lodged in your soul.
And yet, I'm taking your secrets to the grave.