The IVs can never rid her of the toxins in her heart,
Though they flush her body clean.
Her ghostly pale appearance is one close to death,
Knocking on the door of her demons;
The diagnosis broke her down, her knees buckled under the weight
Of a lifetime of managing something so fragile.
She hides this disease from each and every lover,
Afraid that if they knew, they'd leave after thinking her broken;
It's been five years since she, I, was diagnosed,
And I still breakdown in the middle of the night.
Needles have become a close friend of mine,
I live off the juice they give my body, one it doesn't produce
On its own.
Broken. Something inside me is broken,
And this diagnosis will haunt me,
As well as my future family,
Leaving me to secretly curse myself and my body.
