The Cold

Sick to my stomach,
Pounding in my head,
Sniffling and coughing -
I lay shivering in my bed.

Quivering, I stare off into the night
Wondering if I am now dead
Tomorrow will come anew
With hope of warmth
For my body from that
Of what was spread.

I awake with a sneeze;
I swear under my breath -
The pain has not subsided,
Rather, has gotten worse, than what was said:
It will be over with a good night's rest.
A week has now gone by -
“Why have I, not gotten better?”
I say, with much dismay.

My head felt like a brick
I'm sick of being sick
Like my blood being sucked by a tick -
I burn off this sickness,
With only my thoughts.
“No more,” I said;
Just like that - I felt numbness
To replace the pain that caused my madness.

My eyes are awake now for I see
I was never in bed
Nor sick - which I felt in me.
I look around me;
Now understanding, it was all in my mind
For I did feel sick: mentally;


I stared at the paper
That examined my health -
It read three months
Till that one, cold day -

The day that I will never feel sick again.
My heart ached then
With tears flowing

Growing, was the pain I felt
Knowing the cold I will feel

A cold, so surreal...