And this is a pattern, it repeats itself through history

The symptoms worsened.

A tightened grip,

veins so cold that the blood can’t

drip

my 25th trip around the sun

skipped, an early checkout, a choice made.

-

Freezing hands trembling

remembering the last time

I tried to quit.

-

The rhythm moves in the same

circles as the world,

I’ve seen enough to dip.

I’ve seen the bluffers’ whip,

I’ve seen it all coming

And still, I didn’t do a thing.

-

This looping history,

the pattern that repeats

-

a tired, aching body

admitting defeat

-

apologising, massive shame

at the mere sight

of my shape.

-

A pain beneath the bones,

those feelings

you can’t shake.