In rough shape

When I get sick
I have a temperature,
my sweat changes the colour of my face
until the red matches blood
and the drips
become drops
over heavy breaths that heave
every time my chest expands
and I get a cough
that echoes phlegm
roughly loosening in my lungs
like I’d been breathing glue,
waiting for this heat
to bring it all back to a liquid.

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About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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