Lying stiff on the bed,
on a count of five days and more.
Agony seizes the brain. It captures the heart
of the one beside, they don’t really get
what’s going on.
To hassle for the medication, they would only do.
But masking the symptoms isn’t the same
as being cure. I try to speak but words are so weak indeed.
It’s a virus, don’t they know? The fever suppressor doesn’t do much
except affect the number on the thermometer.
You get better if you take the med, she insists,
forcing me awake in the middle of the night.
The dizzy spell follows and I cringe on the floor. The medical staff says,
it’s just some effect of the medication. Or your disease probably.
Should I worry, but nobody really does.
They have conviction in the modern medical science.
Then it comes, thoughts of banging my head to stop the spinning.
But spin and spin it still would do.
I could only wait. Till my immune system brings me back
to who I am.