Lying on the hard floor,

Head all full of nothing,

Sick to my stomach-

Thoughts keep on running.

Tell myself its fake,

So maybe it will go away,

Till it grips so tight,

I burst.

Showers and boiling hot baths

To drown out the deafening pain

Medicine I rarely take

Cause I an scared of the risks it makes

Write to cope,

Heat to cope,

Cry to cope,

Yet still can’t cope.

It goes uphill,

Till it dosent.

Then I go off the rails,

And cant keep to the trails.

I am scared of my own body,

Terrified of what is to come,

Petrified of the future,

Worried about my own existence.

Everything makes it worse.

I cant eat without pain.

I cant think without pain.

I cant sleep without pain.

My body aches for relief.

That I cannot provide.

I have tried and tried

But no miracle seems so bothered.

The pain.

The late nights.

The enedless suffering.

This is the life of a Potsie.

(To be clear I mean the chronic illness POTS)