Hypochondria

My name is hypochondria,

And I swear,
that my clammy hands,
and my palpitating heart,
are clear signs
that my heart is stopping.
And my closing throat,
and my want for sleep,
is alerting me
to some kind of cancer,
growing, and spreading.

The more I sit here,
the more ailments I count,
and the more I worry,
the more my worrying sickens me.
I live in a circle,
only every once and a while,
where I'm afraid of my fears.
And it's only when
I realize that I'm fine,
that I am free.