So long with aching limbs, groaning organs and appetite departed
Sleepless night times, sleepy day time, woeful all the time
Sensitive to touch, words and movement
Unmoved by contact, medicine or the demanding demands of those around
And through these eons of sickness inflicted time passing like a snail crawling through space.
I wonder why is it that through all the haze of my mind and the virus
I can't remember what being well feels like and why I don't appreciate it when things are less blue
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