immunity.

it was not like
i knew it.
it was quiet
and slow,
yet not hiding.

red and raw
symptoms.
but easily dismissed
and disguised;
a shiftless disease.

some days it is
accepted.
i can live
the ugliness;
knowing it is me.

but when a body
is at war
with itself –
and losing –
every pore drips with the truth.

medicine says,
allow the body
to heal itself.
there is nothing to be done
now.

some days it is
surprising.
how did i let
my body
defeat itself?

unknowingly. and now
immunity is
an ugly word.
and i must watch
the slow dying death.

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