CF is a Cruel Thief

My lungs feel sick,
filled with rancid infections
channeling through my lungs
like mud as it wallows
through the trenches
that are my airways

It leaves them wrecked
and tired from the onslaught
of persistent rage
viscous obstruction and
pus, festering as it feeds
on the energy within my soul

Leaving the battle ground
war torn and filled with craters
where pockets of life once flowed
expanding with each breath
as the air of life rushed in.

I wish for emptiness
airways free of decay
and obstruction
instead I learn to accept
the thief that is CF

Mortar begins to set
up in my lungs
making them stiff
suffocating my tissues
my body, my soul, my mind
I feel trapped
in this prison of flesh

If I could rip CF from my body
and place it in front of me
I would see it slither and ooze
a heartless and unrelenting
demon of consumption
taking its time stealing bit by bit
immune to my defenses

I still fight on
clinging to life and hope
that one day I'll know
the beast has been slain
to breathe without labor
to live without pain

Hard to imagine now
my life without such limits
not gasping for air
my lungs without scars
breathing without a care
my hopes, my dreams

CF, is a cruel thief

By James Binegar


~Doodlin'