Disease

Have you ever been so completely sick that you feel you are entirely a disease, an anomaly? Your head throbs with pain, and so does the back of your neck. Your knee feels like it is the abode of living scorpions that are waiting to be released in either direction, eating up the flesh of your leg. The acids in your stomach surge with wretched vengeance and your eyes are moist, blurred and fatigued. There is infinte exhaustion in your limbs - you try to stand up and your legs tremble crushing all hope and the desire for hope.
There is dullness, a debilitating delirium in your mind, a loathing for all that is human. You look at the mosaic on the floor through your tired eyes and you can see the small patterns crawling, bumping into each other like the millions of men and women on earth. Oh! How you despise the human body - the grime, the rotting flesh, the scars, the pus, the offal and sickness! How you despise the human soul - the miserable sorrow, the restlessness, the wickedness, the treachery and deceit!
You look at the light streaming in from the ventilator into your bleak room. You raise your hands to reach the light, to see if the light is real or is it an illusion born out of darkness. The light pierces your eyes and yet the light is beyond your reach. The light is the contemptuous laugh of life.