In the beginning they said I was sick,
But I got worse, and I got worse quick,
Then they said that I would die,
But nobody could tell me why.
I coughed up blood; a sticky black,
And swallowed pills by the pack,
Wires hooked up in my veins,
Dreading all my aches and pains,
Sitting crying through the night,
They said that I would lose the fight.
And then, miraculously, I was well,
I'd dodged the Reaper's tolling bell,
But still I had a road to go,
Pain; depression; feeling low,
But none of them could ever tell,
That I was still inside my Hell.
The sickness spread into my soul,
Hot as any burning coal,
And deep within I was still dead,
From the sickness in my head,
But everybody laughed and smiled,
Said that I had had it mild,
Claimed I was a sight to see,
That I was lucky as could be.
But, then the sickness claimed my heart,
And a change began to start,
Suddenly the world turned black,
With the sickness that came back,
My heart was slowing down its beat,
In my head this horrid heat,
All I wanted was to bite,
'twas the only thing that felt quite right,
Ripping, tearing, chewing flesh,
They taste better when they're fresh!
Now they all curse and shout,
“The apocalypse without a doubt!”
Patient Zero I've been named,
For the zombies I am blamed,
But I simply cannot help myself,
I did not choose to lose my health,
This all began when I got sick,
And then got worse, and got worse quick.