Afflicted soul

I am an afflicted soul, My thoughts, actions, reactions, feelings take their toll. A consuming sickness, day by day, year by year, My life passing by as I drown in fear. I battle my flaws, like grimy bathtubs' stains, Though I scrub hard, they persist, leaving traces and pains. Like an old friend or a relentless foe, They return, yellowed teeth of an addict's woe. Yet I persist, I work, I fight the mold, Though it mocks me with a demeanor cold. Scrubbing till only reminders remain, Of the battles fought and the enduring strain. I am sick, that's the truth I bear, But no longer contagious, no longer a scare. My sickness, petrified, turned to stone, Like a basilisk or Medusa, my resolve has grown. I'll keep staring at my affliction's face, For if I don't, it might regain its grace. I've stomped it down, but I'll stay vigilant, true, Lest it rises again, my sickness, renewed.