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.
