The virus

by IwillNOTbow2741

Published May 17, 2012

In poems

It's like a virus.
it creeps up on you, and once it gets a hold on you you can't stop.
I say to myself, 'this is the last time' but it's a lie.
Have I finally hit rock bottom? 
Has everything that I hid from every single person finally come back to kill me?
There are things I can't bring myself to say to my closest friend.
The left over and newly brought pain of my life, the fears I have.
Am I not aloud to be truly happy? 
It's like a virus.
It goes away and comes back.
Never truly gone, waiting for the perfect time to atack.
Prehaps I will never be cured, 
prehaps I am hopeless, lost and confused.
But no matter what, I know I have to stay in this horible place.
I am not one to give up so easily, even though I get on the brink of surrender.
I know if I surrender, all hell will break lose.
The virus may be uncureable, but I won't stop.
And if you have it too, don't give up, it will get better.
Comments & reviews · 1
FrancesLibertySmith wrote a review Review · May 17, 2012

First of all, Its spelled 'perhaps' not 'prehaps.' 'Attack' not 'atack.' 'Horrible' has two 'r's and it's 'incurable,' not 'uncurable.' Please use your spell-check. Also, in the last sentence 'and if you have it too,' it should be 'and if you have it to.' 'The left over and newly brought pain of my life, the fears I have' is an incomplete sentence, and it makes no sense.
Other than that, this is an ok poem. However, if you don't say what is wrong with you 'like a virus' the reader cannot identify with the voice of the poem. I have no idea what you are talking about, and its a little frustrating, like trying to understand one side of a phone conversation. I do not feel sympathy for someone seemingly complaining about nothing.
If you made it clear what you are suffering, your metaphors would be much better served.
Keep writing, you are on the right track.

I thank you for the spelling points. But this poem is not suppose to reveal what MY pain is. I made it like that so it can apply to anyone who is hurting inside. I guess I should have wrote that in the description sorry.



Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.
— Mary Shelley, Frankenstein