Please, fill my prescription

Everything about you
makes me fuckin’ sick
Like the common cold
you are everywhere I go.
I catch you,
when I go outside for a walk at night
when I stand in the middle of nowhere.
at work, at home or in public transport.
I know I can’t afford to get ill,
but every time I touch the grab rail
I get sick again.
You are a brain disease.
Pure cancer in his most metastasized form.
An aneurysm growing in my Limbic system,
pushing aside everything
that was up there to begin with.
The doctors say
I could just stay away
from the bacteria herd
and treat myself with other people
and I would feel better.
It works, I do.
But I after some time
I realize
I am only treating symptoms
and I am not getting healed from you.
God damn give me the needle
So I can puncture
my lung
like a meth addict
does to the inside of his elbow.
There is no medication
for the illness that is you.
Maybe there is a cure,
but it comes prescribed
in the form of a bullet.