Sick

I bear a news so grave,
Continue forth if you feel so brave,
I hold a disease so rare,
Worried sick be the ones that care.

The disease spread so slowly,
Held by mortals and the holy,
The things that it makes me do,
And the person it made me into.

My heart ever beat so wild,
Makes a person be a child,
My dreams grew so more,
So did the butterflies in my core.

It always speaks to me,
Until I happen to cease to be,
It holds my thought by a chain,
And the laughs in the pain.

Be it as it may,
Laughs are good anyway,
Be them here everytime,
Until the words stop to rhyme.

They said love makes one go insane,
Say it makes one cry in vain,
They tell me it's not going to last forever,
And yet I stand here looking at her.