Full Throttle
For as much as the puncture
the tincture, the cure
will squash out your sickness
and push you to pure
the illness does offer a kind solace too
a moment to stop, be it fever or not
to sink into pillow tops, linen clean white
to better the darkness instead of the light
to catch up on reading, listless delight
wilting in sunshine, rejuvenate night
Poured like elixir into pots of recovery
Muscles homebound shine their eyes toward discovery
Brain resumes traveling at its normal speed
Heart pumps like mad with white cells
Whirling old world still spinning in circles
Outside your sick room the air's filled with purpose
Bleached like your nightstand, starched on the surface
Energy splitting like hairs that are nervous.
So, as much as the puncture
the tincture, the cure
does squash out your sickness
and push you to pure
You envy the slightly ill people, a little...
for your world must go back to living full throttle...
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