Deathbed.

My brain isn’t quite working like it should the past few days. A blip and a bleep away from a total mental blur of sorts.

To some, it is termed the “common cold”. To others, such as men, it is an institution of complaint, pain and everlasting annoyance.

This being day 4, the parade of ailment seems to be mounting and growing, with no frigging end in sight. Nostrils a-flare, like the one and only sizzling hot gateway to hell. Each n every tissue wipe, to apparently “soften the blow” feels like a low grade sandpaper massaging its way into my nasal cartilage. I’d leave it be but left unattended for more than 2 minutes and I’d have a beard of thick mucus coating its way down my torso.

The coughs are burny. A little fire is lit evert time I feel that cunning tickle that I love so much. Barking, hacking and coughing up dark junk. Glad I’m able you earlier around hundreds of people every day. You’re welcome.

Shortness of breath and spells of dizzying flashes of pinpoints of light floating around my head and eyes like butterflies in an old school cartoon. Oh, and I shan’t forget the weakness of the limbs, slowing me down from a semi fit 40 year old to an obese, chainsmoking 77 year old. If I die, it won’t be cool.

I’m not whining, just spillin some beans on my current state of mind. Behind on my writing projects, I’ve abandoned the gym and all I want is vegetation and sleep. I’m surprised I just penned these sentiments.

Alas, health will inevitably find me again, in my weakest hour. And then the procrastination will subside and I’ll live happily ever after.

By Hearts Erased

A blogger for 6 years, I now have my poetry collection being published.

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