First comes the fevers,
the tips of my body
bathed in fire
and a dripping sweat
that soaks my sheet.
There is a claw
gripping at my chest,
and I try not to see
things in black and white.
My legs scream when I stand.
I have dreams
of loose earth and still air.
Each small sip of water
is a struggle
as if my throat
has become a war zone
and my vision dims
like the last minutes
before the sunrise.
This illness has become me.
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