Diagnosed

Perfectionism has made me sick

Not as a dog

I didn’t go that far

Complemented not hospitalized

Idealized

Hatred is inherent in this illness

The sugar feeding the bacteria

Dreams of satisfaction haunt me

They must put a lot of money in the marketing department

How else could I have been tricked?

Believed it is a vehicle

For progress

Not stagnation

The illusion of a treadmill

Just close your eyes

Run through trees, on sand, beneath skies

All under the same ceiling

Entrapment never looked so glamorous

Sick as a dog

I never went that far

Never got caught

Always controlled what was controlling me

Denial

Keeps feeing the beast

note from the author: work in progress