Here, Take This


There’s a demon in my esophagus
I should audition for a monster
But I’m too preoccupied with
Blowing my congested nasal
Passages into oblivion.
Double-fisted if I can help it,
Slugging shots of
And they’re multi-symptom.
Where’s the all-symptom?
Wrappers of a thousand
Menthol-eucalyptus lozenges
Make my mouth taste disgusting,
If I can taste at all.
Navigating over a spire of tissues
And a forest of childproof locks
Searching for respite.
I’m sick as a dog,
Whatever that means.

2 thoughts on “Here, Take This

  1. feeling ill: what better excuse to write poetry!

    I find feeling a bit ill helps make me feel sufficiently gloomy to really meditate on things. But for creativity the best bit is convalescence, the feeling of coming alive again, and being full of refreshed energy 🙂

    Just my thoughts on reading your poem.


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