The Dis-ease Of Disease

How is it, it always seems to follow me?
Even when I’m not within the bounds of my very own
self-made prison-cell;
wallowing in self-pity.
Still, it seems, no matter how hard I try to
keep at a safe enough distance-
you follow me like a homing bird.

Always plucking at my heart-strings
watching me, waiting for the inevitable
‘fall from grace’ - or for the ground to swallow me up
and spit me back out,into your arms.

But I don’t feel anything anymore.
I’m physically and mentally immune to you now:
My disease is that I can’t stop dreaming about it;
Screaming, I lie...