Unwell

There he lays,

A mere shadow on the bed,

Radiating heat, and

Sweat alike.

Sniffling for dear life,

From a tomato-red nose,

Shining below a crop of,

Haggard hair due to that medicinal dose.

Praying penance for the long days,

And even longer nights,

He regrets staying awake,

With the books under the bright lights.

A curse maybe,

Causing the system failure,

He prays ruefully,

To negate his machine’s error.

Not yet fine,

Nor completely well,

He tears apart from the mattress,

To answer the hysterical doorbell.

Later, between harrowed breaths he shuffles,

To the bright screen,

And types this small message,

Sweating and sniffling,

He is a feverish teen.