Ill I’ll sit,
doing nothing.

A beautiful sunny,
mid-winter’s day
beckons,
but I,
sinuses backed up,
mouth agape,
feel no urge
to venture out.

Snot pushing up
into my brain
seems to plug
every
and any
thoughts I might have.

Hazy-headed,
I attempt to breathe,
but instead
mearly gasp.

There should be more
to write about,
to think about,
to do,
but this giant screen
covers and prevents
any outlet
of creativity.

My coughing
hurts my back,
makes me want to crawl
back into bed,
snuggle under
warm covers,
where I can’t breate,
and will only think
of how I should be doing something,
anything.
But what?