Residual
There is a moment when your body tries to warn you.
The panic attacks.
The dissociation.
The burning.
The shortness of breath.
The fatigue.
It is just anxiety, they tell you.
All is well.
But..
You feel it existing within you.
Everywhere you go, it is there.
Every time you smell hand sanitizer, you taste the saline,
Feel the tingling sensation,
The chill of poison inching through your central line,
Corrupting your bloodstream.
Is this a memory?
Or is it a warning.
You went through hell on Earth to get rid of it, but its shadow follows, mocking you.
You thought, it says.
You thought you got rid of me.
But you will carry me forever.
Was the poison worth it, if it was always going to come back?
Did you kill yourself to kill it, but you were the one who ended up dying?
Is the cancer the intruder, or are you?
Are you just surviving in a world of decay?
Was your rising from the ashes merely a portion of the cycle before you once again burn alive?
