This Sickness/This Will

Eyes crossing,
head nodding,
feet weak,
body bobbing,
this sickness has
a hold on me,
driving me to
my misery.
I am here rendered
useless as can be,
unable to think,
even to see clearly.
My eyes and mind
are now colluding
to poison my body,
to begin their polluting.
My nose joins
in the black parade
to try to run away,
to continue this charade.
My legs won't work,
refusing to stand,
no matter my want
or my demand
but even as my throat
begins to scratch
there is one for which
none of it's a match:
this sickness cannot
touch my will
to get its wish
and ultimate thrill.
It cannot break
a spirit ready to fight
no matter its strength,
no matter its might.
My will does knock
down the barriers
and all of the
bomb carrying carriers.
It conquers all
of the evils present
as it serves as the guardian,
as it always prevents.
This will allows me
to wake up each day
knowing the attacks
these demons bring my way.
It does allow me
to carry on still
(this ever-growing,
more powerful will)
and informs a brain
otherwise infected
that the brain won't be conquered
but, instead, always be protected.