#symobolism

It builds, ravaging the body Like a horrid bacteria ravaging the bloodstream Poisoning the blood

The poisoned blood circulates Doing more damage, destroying More and more

Like the festering illness it is

It doesn't go away It grows and grows like A tumors that are continuously removed

Leaving behind painful scars

The poisoned blood circulates And the tumors form Profusely, one bleeds, staining bandages

And requiring new ones

The hair greys And the body becomes frayed Much like the mind

This is continuous

The new blood does help some But not entirely enough, as So much damage is already done

It just slows the new damage Or, rather, the effects Yet, the disease still plagues it

The line was unknowingly infected Leaving more poisoned blood To ravage the frayed body and mind further

She doesn't sever or pull the line She needs it, yet, in some way, as the uninfected blood Is what sustains her, protects her from the illness bleeding her to death, even if

The line is infected

She's resigned to it As this isn't the first time Although, it won't be the last

She thinks Her mind racing, like speeding heartbeat Trying to work out sollutions and examinations

Of a logic opposite of her own

The cough she has isn't fading Yet, it isn't persisting She wonders if it isn't psycosomatic

The period of transitions Is a very turbulant one and She isn't too sure how to cope

Yet, she tries, even if it does no apparent favors

The plug was pulled And she doesn't even know Not that ever had

She had been blind

She knows that That much she did know She didn't have to be reminded

Addages were not going to help her Neither was any sort of disconnect or disociation Especially in this time of great conflict

Suffice to say, she is in a state of unrest

To her, this state of unrest Was like a septicemic illness and cancer Becoming a repetitive lethal diagnosis

The which she isn't sure to fix

Resigned to her fate Expecting the worst of all outcomes Looking at things scientifically and philisophically

She just wants to be content

The illness she has is a metaphorical one One that one shouldn't ignore but can't so easily avoid Logically it isn't an illness but it can lead to them

The illness she has is

Physical Beauty -

A question mark of smoke.

The woman killer.

Red as wine, 

Too drunk too often

on fabrications of hallucinations,

a widely irrational, completely uninformed idea.

Pretty eyes, blue-sky eyes

made her beautiful.

Eyes gone flat with malice,