Sometimes I'll find something out about you that makes me sick. My stomach will hurt, my hands will feel weak, sweat will come out of pores I've forgotten existed and time will slow to drag it all out. A headache will swing by to top it all off, and then I feel disgusted with myself for bothering to be upset at all. As if I could bother. You can't keep your affairs under wraps, and for that, I suffer, I get sick, I barf words and curse through a throat too tightly closed to even breathe through. My trust is betrayed and my body rejects you like any other virus.
What it doesn't understand is that you live continued, unfettered, infallible and made stronger by resistance, in me. Fevers don't burn you out, you give me those all the time. Withdrawal symptoms can't be treated, and will bows before you and all that you are.
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