Under the weather

Under the weather  

I’m sick of being sick

I’ve been this way for ever

My head is sore, my throat is raw

It’s called “Under the weather”

Drums in my head are pounding

I’m coughing up a lung

The acid in my throat is burning

My eyes they feel bee stung,

My bones are weak and heavy

My hair is dull and lank

My attention span forgot to stop

Did I mention my breath stank?

My ears are buzzy ringing

My nose is blocked yet running

This cold snuck up and sucker punched

With Machiavellian cunning

I’m going to steam my head off

 That ought to do the trick

Drink lots of Scotch, take lots of pills

I’m sick of being sick.

Bea Marshall 3-11-8