my snot factory is working overtime…
my nose is blocked, yet it runs like a tap,
and I feel like literal crap,
what ever, get fucked, I have to crash.
push through my arduous day,
struggle with the sentences my fellow tradies spray,
toey as a roman sandal, and this disease it seems,
will outlast religion.
choke down a beer, the boys are loud and obnoxious as they cheer,
I am unable to join in, as my aches kick in,
focus stammers as the red cells win,
I have to go lads, and I am reminded, that I am a poofter.
I leave their banter and drag my corpse home,
sorry babe, the meat’s still frozen, you’ll have to cook your own,
so I go without, and watch “home and away”,
port in hand, feeling like death, with nothing to say.
stare at a wall, put my sprouts to slumber,
if it wasn’t for deafness, I could hear their thunder,
sleep while breathing through my mouth,
awake with a film on the roof, tongue it off.
pull a sicky the following day,
sorry old mate, cant make it, yeah I know, I’m gay,
what ever, get fucked, I could try to care less,
but I couldn’t.
made in Taiwan immune system,
suck it up and carry on,
I could be strong, but I’d rather pampering,
an over-heated bath, some candles, and pure silence, would be nice.
all I hear is waaa,
all I feel is mexican waves of aches and insects,
all I do is stare at a wall,
waiting for this sickness to find a new host.
the dreaded “man flu” strikes again.
this is my 300th write, unfortunately I am crook as a dog, when you are a tradesman aka tradie, and you show the slightest sign of weakness, or complain about feeling ill, the usual retort is “ooooh, toughen up princess”, “you want a cuddle? or, you just want to be held?”, “have a tea spoon of concrete, and harden the fuck up”, I am a bugger for dishing out these insults, so I expect them back when I am below well, however, I am crook, and this is how it rolls…