For years I have worked to uncoil you from my spine –
Your crooked little lies resting dormant in it’s fluids,
like a bad virus that I cannot expel.
You wait there, ready to strike when I am at my weakest –
Lingering long past the point of infection.
I tried to dig you out with my pen;
A million words on paper are not an antidote that any doctor ever ordered.
Nor is repeatedly denying your existence.
How many more decades will I be forced to play host to an unwelcome guest?
How long until you completely cripple me from the inside out?