Blight

The device on my wrist says I slept
for one hour and thirteen minutes
and my jaundiced gaze agrees
prickly chill and sweat brought on by those
nightmares you gave me as a parting gift
I wake, feeling anew the horror of loss
each night, each morning, each passing instant
My failing body a reflection of my fallen face
in this time of plague, I am my own worst disease
and I have no antibodies against
this malady you administered
without vaccine or treatment
and there is no cure for this pestilence
engineered with just me in mind
tailored to my DNA like some custom curse
The thinness of my figure shows stark the ravage
of this time, skin highlighting the existence of bone
the outline of rib and joint
the contour of collapse and apathy

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