i jotted this down when i was home from high school, feeling simply awful.

Here i lie, a mis’rable soul
plastered to my bed
a gelatinous wad of self-sustained ooze
pulsates inside my head

My throat is raw and my tonsils are sore
and my eyelashes hurt when i blink
a river of drool runs down to my chest
and my armpits are starting to stink

“GOSH am i sick,” i repeat to myself
as gnats find a home in my navel
i’m not getting out of this any time soon
i’m taking this funk to my grave – HELL, i

need to find Kleen-ex to stop up my nose
i need a good spongebath to cure all my woes
i need to get shot with a fireman’s hose
cuz i’m sick
and it sucks
and bacteria grows
out my ears!
Can you find me a hero unsung
who can vacuum the carpet that’s grown on my tongue?
Or to keep me from hacking up my other lung?

Didn’t think so,
’cause i know
that although
some say so,
my doctor can’t help me
that man is a yo-yo
He’d tell me
i’m sick
and he’d say
“Take it slow –
you should lie in your bed
get your rest,
doncha know?”
and so

Here i lie, a mis’rable soul
the room starts to spin and i reach for a bowl
It’s not good to brood over being this sick
so i guess i’ll just lie in my