Sickness

Sickness

I wipe acid tears away. I'm not going to cry over you Dad. It's foolish. I put on a forced smile and hop on a plane to Newyork just to see you. Breathing heavy I tip-toe into the crisp air of your house.Your thin,frail arms wrap around me in a hug. I can smell the Sickness on you.You have desert hands, Dad,you need to hydrate.

Dialysis helps your kidney. That scentence won't go through my dense skull. I can see you slipping farther into your casket. Your heart beat will stop and your voice will grow mute. I want someone to touch you on the head and heal you. I want them to close the door on sickness.

These desperte thoughts steady run through my brain. I feel so infierior. We're sailing in this rundown sailboat together. The sickness drenches you in weekness. I feel it too. Maybe this is a test. Maybe it will all past but Dad, I'm not going to cry over you. It's foolish.