Dying
I have NO IDEA why this post sat completed in my drafts while the deadline for the Distractions challenge came and went... I think I was (possibly ironically) too distracted by being ill and that's how I missed it. Anyway, I have a question: why does getting a terrible cold set your creativity on fire? (PS. I am all better now.)
Dying! I'm dying.
Ill. I'm ill. I'm huddled under a blanket, writing more than I have in weeks.
Sniffling. Sneezing. Stuffed up. Snorting snot into a tissue. Shuddering. Sinuses sizzling. Squinting through streaming eyes.
Tap tap tap typing away. Twists of tissue tucked into my nostrils.
Reading back what I wrote. Reeling with every cough.
All my neurons fizzing, joints aching.
Congested. Coughing. Cursing my nose, clawing at it. Creative. Clacking the keys furiously before the ideas slip away.
Tea, hot and black, with honey and lemon.
Is the cold a distraction from writing, or is writing a distraction from the lurgy?
Oh! to tear out my sinuses, root and stem
Nose red raw, stories bleeding out of me, between naps.
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Thank you for reading!
As always, I appreciate feedback and do my best to reciprocate reads 😁
If you enjoyed this and you're bananas enough to be hankering for another poem, try this one. Or, if you prefer something that rhymes (I don't blame you) this one. My usual wheelhouse is fiction though - here is my second favourite story I've submitted to Vocal 😁
About the Creator
L.C. Schäfer
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I'm not a writer! I've just had too much coffee!
Sometimes writes under S.E.Holz
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