A Sickness

The pain is to punish.
The sleep is the same.
Can't hide from your troubles,
can't run from the rain.
You can't jump out of that rowboat.
You can't throw away your loss.
The cold is gonna get you
and you won't know it when you're caught.
There's a shell that's all around me.
It's a twisting, confounding knot.
I am going to keep rowing until the water dims.
I am going to let go only when I know I'm going to sink.
I am going to find a way to survive this.
But when I say it, the doctors shake their heads.
I am going to stand up someday soon.
I am going to walk away so I'll never lose.
There's a steady ground somewhere that can hold my feet.
And there's hope, but when they say it, they don't look at me.
It doesn't seem like I could ever be done.
I've got some more time, but that's just more to suffer.
I knew I had to escape.
You were a hatch, and my eyes begged.
But you were gone, you'd left town,
and you were crushingly sour.
And you were frightened, so you turned,
but you were running me down.
There are no more questions,
no more recognition,
no friends, just people intrigued by condition.
They think everything is muted. They exaggerate their movements.
And I just lie there, I just stare at the vines tying me in.
And I'd smile, dear, but I find, dear, I thought I had years to live.
But I was wrong about so many things.