Here's a more serious Poem I wrote today.

Dis-antidote

The Virus taints you.

You need the cure,
You’re infected.

What’s like a cold knife that burns?
A blazing steel in the pit of your soul?
It scars like a cruel irony.

What flushes your face bright pink?
A burning, depressing, undesirable thing?
It melts into your heart like poison,
But feels like the cure.

The stigma spreads through your veins, tainting your blood and bones.
It was once such a majestic thing, but now it pains.
You loved it, but now you hate it.
You can’t let go, you never let go, though you lie to yourself, saying you can.

It seemed like a dream, but became a reality.
Before you knew it, it consumed your mind.
Some say it’s a great thing, but the wise know it’s not.
What was once your comfort is now your Hell.
Looking back, it’s obvious it didn’t comfort to begin with, but instead only brought you down.

What cures your happiness and turns it to sin?
What churns your heart and makes your mind boil?
Not through anger, but through helpless depression, it makes your spirit scream in agony.
Why did God make such a beautiful thing that so easily crushed your mind?
Like Jekle and Hyde, a two faced thing, that lifts up, but levels the lifter.
You experienced it, but wished you never had.

Not until you see it in another’s eyes do you fear it.
Before you merely hated it, but now it hates you back.
You fear for another’s safety, you know they need not taste the poison,
But at the same time you want them to, just not the same way they’re willing to.
It only arouses that same experience that you didn’t want to feel again.

There is no immunity.
You plead to the infected, try to pull them free.
You want them to taste the cure with you.
But is it the cure or the poison?

What grieves a man?
What kills a giant?
What saves a sinner?

You want to cure that one infected,
But your cure is diseased.

You know you should let them suffer

If you truly cared for that infected.


It's a little disorganized, but that's sorta how I wanted it to feel. Tell me what you think.

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Tree | Styx
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