3 February 2014


I’m not a secret agent,
Or an international spy,
This disease that lives in me
I try my best to hide.

Like rusty pipes in an earthquake,
My joints make noises on their own.
With every move I make,
My cover –  it is blown.

I don’t hide behind a hat,
A shoe phone or overcoat,
I hide behind this fake smile,
Because it’s my only way to cope.