Confusion, feelings of normalcy slithered away, crept into the dark of night,

Fear, I don't remember, can't recollect, afraid trapped in the finite,

Stumbling for words even as I write this work, more difficult diurnal tasks become,

Forever may reveal potential in many, but like myself the eternal masks some,

Whether you feel I manifest such feelings from within is of no concern,

What I feel is is tangible to me, but to others silly for they will never learn,

I wake up to no difference, first thoughts, hoping from cachexia I may be exempt,

To sleep the day eventually succumbs, soon awakening healthier in the dreams I've dreamt,

The ones I continue to dream, each day, from reality the farther they are stretched,

To feel at any part of the day like I am together, for most is granted, unconsciously etched,

If you actually feel, can you still be accurately labeled a hypochondriac?

If I need to purge a sickness, a sickness even invisible to the strengths of ipecac?

I don' know much, no one truly believes me and at the end I am left in the same place,

I've spoken with the inevitable, I know I will eventually disappear with no trace,

Nonetheless, now more than ever, when it's most difficult, I want to enjoy life before my quietus,

I'm tired, living, dying enveloped in a state of exacerbated entropy, in pain this is only the beginning - I am a fetus.

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