is there a cure?
wait, are you sure?
what is it called again?
can I catch it too?
and you're positive
there's no more doing
for the doctors to do?
maybe it's stress?
aren't you a little depressed?
don't you sleep too much?
maybe try a little less?
or should you sleep more?
my uncle's cousin's best friend
had success with that before.
in all of the ways
that sickness covers my days
the repetition of questions
and well-meaning suggestions
is kindness and trying but also litter and clutter.
i find myself wide-eyed amidst the interrogatory debris,
struggling to recall which of these voices (if any) is "me".