sick in my veins

I’m sick in my veins, the blood that runs through my legs and hips is infected by this sickness that rips my nerves and shrieks sharpnesses.
Every move I make I feel the bad move in my blood, corpsing throuht these palces of mine.
Pain, of purple hell – jaggerd crystals of red angryness.
my virus’ fright, resides in antibiotics – that kills it and a little bit of me.
Upper-back, heightend cold strike, mind forcing break – knife pointing pierce – and nerve evading racers scoure the networks in my bing to raise the alarm in my head – to no avail, no one hears the reness flashing in the rooms…
I’m sick in my veins, I’m sore – of facinating, plain pain, bad pain.