The Sickness

It's that tense and queasy feeling
My heart begins to pound
And my face begins to tighten
As my fists begin to clench
But I'm not looking for a face to punch
Or a wall to put a hole in
It's just the sickness that I feel
When I feel anything for you.

It's the loss of any appetite for anything but anger
The loss of any taste for anything not bitter
The ever-growing craving for a stew of lamentations
Starvation for attention from another false friend
It's the sickness that I feel when I think about you
When I think about the ways you spent my time
When I think about the waste of time you proved yourself to be
Again, I feel the sickness.

It's the paranoia when I make a new acquaintance
For a new acquaintance cannot possibly become an ally
The depression when I realize how long I let you fool me
The anxiety when I wonder who else is fooling me
The unwillingness of this fool to face a world of foolers
It's the sickness that I feel when I see or hear your name
It's the sickness that I feel when I remember our good times
For I see now that our good times were never quite so good
Neither is the way you make me feel today.

It's the restlessness, the yearning to see welcoming faces
It's the emptiness inside which I cannot fill alone
It's the weariness of wariness
The loneliness
The readiness
The readiness to feed my needs
The readiness to need again
The readiness for openness with just a hint of cautiousness
It's a whole new kind of sickness
For you've made me sick and make me sick
It's the sickness
For I'm sick
Of being sick.