Like unsavory memories of a bad love affair,

you cling to me.

Like the scraping sounds of nails on blackboards,

you mark your presence.

Like a thief, you steal my dreams

and boldly delight in my despair,

Or is this thorn-like pain

just my self-imposed imagination?

As proof, I offer to snap your picture,

but you hide insidiously in my body,

making those around me think

I'm a hypochondriac, or worse,

                 just plum crazy.

But you always let me know you're still inside me,

as you keep whispering your name,

                  "Fibromyalgia"