Feels like

I am dying
My head is exploding
My tongue is shrinking
My lung is trying
to creep me out

I am shivering
and I am cold
I am having high fever
from morning to scold
Dying alone
in my bed mold

Feels like
The 12th day of
40 celsius fever
Where is the cleaver
for ending
the tale?

Tags: poem poetry spilled ink me high fever sick