There’s a lump in my esophagus
That starts at the stomach
Rises to my throat
Then back
A story arch of regurgitated fear
That has more sequels that John McClain

You know what they say about old habits
And this one has returned with a vengeance
Just when I think I can get rid of it
The sickness reappears

That poem is this poem’s medicine
Temporary oppressor of symptoms
But never a more potent cure than what’s already divinely inside me
But yet here I am
Feeling fine
Feeling better

I took something
Disregarding the label
Warning: contents will cause:
Inflation of ego
False sense of security
Depression
Emptiness
Temporary sigh of relief
Shortness of breath

The list of side effects is longer than the poem
And I wonder
Why didn’t I just write this earlier?