My disease is a giant puzzle.

A garden puzzle,

containing varying shades of green,

some specs of pink and blue.

I have a few pieces;

some are part of the big picture,

others are completely irrelevant.

None are corners;

none are edge pieces.

We have no idea where to start,

where to put the first piece.

There is no evidence to show

which chunks even belong.

I must live my life

with the constant reminder,

that it may never

be put completely together.

I may never know

what type of garden I contain,

or it might not be a garden at all.