It's sinking in me again,
I can feel it.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Dragging be back.
It's deaths sweet mistress,
This heaviness in my heart.
A fever of questions "Why?"
With many unpleasent answers.
Not quite a longing for an end,
More like flirting with the idea.
No more feeling,
No more wondering.
A eternity of rest I'll never even know I've experienced,
With no outcome,
No thought.
A simple and abrupt end.

It's spreading.
The only cure is my willing it to spread.
But no,
I fight back.
And it only gets worse.
The same result either way.
Give in and let it take over?
End.
Fight and watch as it worsens?
End.

It feeds on me,I know.
My hopes and flitting dreams.
My nightmares.
Physical strength.
It's not depression,oh no.
Certainly not.
It's a soothing want of release,relief.
Caressing me as a mother would to her child.
Holding me in it's loving embrace.
This is true and untainted love,this disease.

I've been bad,Mother.
I'm sorry,
Don't let the Punishment be too harsh,Mother.
I promise I wont fight with you anymore.
I'll be the good little girl you've always wanted.
I wont give you a struggle.
Anymore.