PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My body is infected by some foriegn menace!

What aims does this virus seek?

Hold me at ransom to my bed, I say,

Negotiate on the phone to my employer

begging for more sick days,

It has amassed an army of napkins

and nose wipes to conspire against me,

My mucous lay thick and it's plot

is a phlegm infested holiday,

"Do we have a thermometer, boys?"

"Very doubtful"

That doesn't surprise me,

We don't don't look like the household

that would carry thermometers,

or medicine,

or motherly instincts,

I cough out two megaton bombs

and sneeze a twister into the room,

Everyone is trailing me in lysol,

Disinfecting my every move,

Next I'll be quarantined 

and cut off from society,

If only my body would evolve past this,

Simple sickness holds no place

as it holds no place later in my life,

My eyes, a sanguine color, blood shot

stare straight into the mirror 

at this boogery snot ridden visage,

I'm afraid I may have to call in again

and cough into the phone until 

I recieve an inch of mercy