Something bit me yesterday;

Crawled up deep inside

A terrible disease

That thrives and shits and dies

A melancholy blessed thing—

On loneliness it thrives.

It swallows all your happiness--

It wallows in your fears—

It erodes your inner being

And it bathes itself in tears.

It decays and writes

And kills it’s host slowly

I asked my doctor for the cure—

All the bastard said was;

“If only.”