Yesterday’s Poetry

I came home from work early yesterday afternoon because I wasn’t feeling too great, so I tried to describe how it felt. This may be the most poetic way I’ve ever said “I’m sick” before.

But, then again, my poetry is terrible, so…


The throbbing. That little vein in the forehead, pulsing in time, not with the heart, but with the anxiety and uncertainty that flows through it.

The nausea. That feeling of cresting a hill at just the right speed that reality flutters, and for just a moment, you might fly. Your stomach lifts, caught between terror and joy, before settling again, waiting for another hill, another crest, another moment…

The chill. That cold that grips your body, sending involuntary shivers through you. Your shoulders, into your arms, down your body, into your legs, finally settling into a low, constant motion of your entire self, a current from the universe firing through your nerves, until blessed warmth returns, not from without, but from within.

Then, as suddenly as it sprang upon you, it’s gone. Like a spring storm, appearing as if by magic, only to vanish in an instant. Only the barest whisper of memory remains…

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