Sick

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Buried beneath
Your featherbed cover
Feeling so bad
You hope that you’ll smother

Everything aches
You can’t lift your head
You pray for relief
But just wish you were dead

Slinking to the bath
Nothing matters anymore
As you lay there vomiting
On that cold tile floor

You could easily perish
And you’d be thrilled
For it would end what feels
Like your head being drilled

With your eyes bugging out
You pray for mercy
But none of your friends
Offer murder as a courtesy

And you curse their names
For not offering a way out
While your body heaves
And purges another bout

And you decide if you make it
You’ll never speak to them again
Good thing for everyone
Death takes you in the end

© 2018 Michelle Cook

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