poem: empty my crown

my fever spikes
and I do see
both arms are thin,
too dry, no skin

then yellow spheres
float down to me
no weight, no sound;
their grip profound

exploiting weakness
i can’t see
on left and right,
they hang on tight

the virus finds
a home in me
this race, our pace;
peel off my face

i see your heads
expand and shrink
it’s changing my
neurology

these visions make it
hard to think
gone is the way
of yesterday

i try to speak,
but cannot say
thought “one” at first,
but came out “thirst”

the words get lost
along the way
i write them down,
empty my crown

-philausiphah

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