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There is no ease for this disease

by K. Kylyra Ameringer

No amount of sleep can lead me

from this mire of tiredness.

Pills line up and pop

down my throat in empty hope

to mask the pain.

It drains me,

leaves me fetal positioned

in contrition, crying.

A dervish delighting

in igniting firecracker popping

up and down my bones

is smiling; he condones

no beguiling plea for mercy,

'cause he has none.

He says,

"My name is Arthritis,

Rheumatoid Arthritis.

You can't fight us, for I am legion;

there is no region,

no part of you I cannot touch.

Clutch at your hair and it will fall out,

wear brace and support and still not walk,

balk at the truth of angles acute

shooting out from your hands

and understand you cannot change this.

You cannot plead, you cannot bargain,

you cannot buy or cry or medicate me away.

I am Rheumatoid Arthritis,

and I am here to stay."