Being Ill

Somedays it gets so difficult to take even one more step,

The more the work the piles on as the more you fret. 

You want to just pull the blanket over your head

And escape this world and its demands; pretend that you're dead. 

You want to curse yourself for giving up, 

Is this how one behaves as a grown up?

You sigh! You trudge up another step,

You hope that at least what you deserve you now get.

You wonder why today is when you want to cry,

Why nothing seems possible how muchever you try.

And then your mother asks "Are you ill?"

And your thermometer shows 102°and is climbing still...

- Written on 9 Dec 2014

- Self-Explanatory.