Better Off Dead

My head’s been set on fire,
My weary bones do ache,
I’m sizzlin’ hot to touch,
Still, I shiver and I shake.
With a scratch in my throat and,
A faucet for a nose,
That gets redder and more raw,
Every time it has to blows.

I’ve got blotches on my torso,
Itchy, scratchy and the such,
My palatine uvula is so swollen,
It’s becoming a little much.
I’ve burst blood vessels in my eye,
From coughing up a lung,
Don’t get me started on the back end,
Just get me a bloody bung.

My insides twisted up in knots,
Cramps eating at my gut,
Pressure building deep within,
Gases exploding from my butt.
I kneel before the Ivory throne,
Paying respect to the porcelain King,
I’ve eaten nothing in three days,
Still, I’m going to fill the thing.

I bolt awake at 2 a.m.,
Sweat streaming from my pores,
I’ve been lying here so bloody long,
I’m developing bedsores.
Not Tylenol or Advil or a combo of the two
Can soothe this pounding head,
Don’t know how much more I can take
I think I’d be better off dead!


Photo Credits: Polina Tankilevitch via Pexels.
Copyright 2022 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

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