It comes up, vile
Quick swallow, suppression
Buying time, waiting for convenience
It will come back, worse
With reinforcements
Repression. Suppression.
Marking the failure of pharmaceuticals
Twelve hours without coughing.
Lies.
Every time
Unstoppable, a force to feel
Tongue forms the familiar shape
Curls up, marble indent
From below the navel
Something tightens in anticipation
Sound is released
Throat burns
Thin slab of stomach constricts, relaxes
Staccato sounds, repeating differently.
Kleenex stands by, at attention.
No need for it now
But to shield others from what must surely spew forth
Invisible, menacing, dangerous
Luckily, or perhaps not so much so,
The cloudiness has disappeared.
To stand is not to be woozy
To lay down not the sweet kiss of comfort
Or at least not in the same magnitude.
Sitting is controllable, doable, possible.
Walking is no longer a shuffling affair.
Noises still sound foreign, no melody
Raspy, low, hesitant in its difficulty
Some words are never heard, lost in the air
The whispers collect on dusty floors
Swept up by an electronic wonder.
Eyes blink twice, glancing at a nearby time
Source.
Yawn commences, stretching jaw
Tear forms in corner of eye, trickles, salt.
Yawning hurts.
Reopens new wounds, cavity into you.
We wait for the yawn to finish
And continue on.