P/N: Poet's Note (Or atleast an ocassional Poet's Note)

P/N: Either we have the disease, maybe we had it earlier or we've not yet encountered it. But the disease may not be as harmful to some people. It's just the way you look at it. You get hurt sometimes or you make it something magical, something not so harsh and cruel but something which makes you happy. Nothing can harm you unless and until you let it harm yourself.

The pleasant days now seem like cold nights,

The smell of the wind is not the same.

The stars up above don't seem to shine,

My feelings include pain and only pain.

I hide my face so nobody can see,

The tears which have gone through my cheeks.

I cover up my heart because I feel afraid,

Of getting the disease again I had for weeks.

I hide my body because I'm insecure,

I don't want anybody to see the scars.

I don't want people to know what's behind my smile.

We all have some fault in our stars.

I want this feeling to go away,

It's killing me and it's changing who I am today.

This ache in my heart is tearing me apart.

This oblivion stops me from saying what I want to say.