Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis


with 2 comments

Chest tightening

Mouth drying

Body heating up,

Absolutely can’t breathe

Dizzy, red, swollen, pain

Head, eyes, glands, muscles

I missed class again today

The doctor can’t see me till tomorrow

Nurse doesn’t understand

“Allrgic to medince”

I’d like to sleep

I can’t concentrate

I need to eat

Nausia, not worth it

Then the headache sets in

My body aches and it hurts to breathe

I feel like I got hit by a train

I really wish this cough would leave

Strep thraot is so mundane

I hate being sick…


Written by arstal2

February 3, 2009 at 12:31 am

Posted in Poem, Uncategorized

2 Responses

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  1. Wow, very literal.


    February 3, 2009 at 2:40 am

  2. I’m to sick to be creative..


    February 3, 2009 at 3:53 am

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