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...