I am the main source of creation

I break when our sorrows turns us to inebriation

Often, all search to change its delicate sensation

Because it hurts too much, I leave it in desolation

Each pump brings pain

From my head to my toes

Ever since I got sick, it won’t work the same

I put a smile on my face so none of the hurt shows

I fight as it moves my blood

But it pumps like its pushing mud

I can hear my breaths in my ear

But I won’t let in the fear

I know if I do, it will demand to steer

And if I am to survive, I need to be at the wheel

Eventually I know my body will heal

Can I say the say the same for my mind?

This pain negates all I hold dear

What is the true meaning of this? It’s not an answer I can find.