sick

Five hundreds of times
men swallow each day
—that's the number my
throat feels such a pain.
And even much more
because of my nose
that is runny, hurts
too. Because of those
pains I cannot breath
when going to bed.
Can't speak, cannot sit.
I am so afraid
of doctors, ashamed
to call them at night.
My eardrum, it may
now flap, or pus might
come into my brain,
remain in the scull
instead of champagne
-like fountaining, and I'll
become like a plant.
I'm turning my head
—edemas must run
from the nostril, and
from ear, and let
me breath not through mouth.
I'm swimming in sweat
in my bed —no doubt,
it's good, but I need
to drink water more.
It's nausea, it
's a knife for my sore
throat and the need to
use WC,
to get up. When stood
there, I could only see
some darkness while losing
my consciousness there.
Is there any use in
cloth-changing? No fair
dry on radiators
for my sweaty shirts.
My life doesn't matter,
won't fight anymore.
©galaburda