burning leaves out back

what is there beyond this

beyond you giving me goosebumps even though it's 90 degrees outside

beyond your voice sending chills crawling up and down my spine

beyond sharp gasps and locked doors

what is there beyond this

I am trapped in an endless cycle of sick, sick-but-functional, and a brief glimpse of normalcy that takes me the whole year to recollect

I no longer remember an autumn where I am not ill

I no longer remember what it is like to throw caution to the wind and simply live

I no longer remember a world without strokes of bitterness painted at the healthy 

I no longer remember what it feels like to enter a relationship without waiting to break the news that I am mere damaged goods

I no longer remember conversations that are not thinly veiled with "You Are Sick And I Do Not Know The Proper Response"

I no longer remember my reflection without the sad eyes I carry around

the leaves turn golden, and orange,

then dry up and die

and, it would appear, so do I.