Maybe it's bad food.
At least I hope the turning in my stomach is just a case of raw meat
"It's a case of under cooked pork"; oh, how I wish it was so
I could ignore the pain & throw it to the dogs
I'll just put my hands to my head & pray for a coma.
I guess I could, but I'd be blind
To ignore this pressure burning under my skin,
Is to ignore the sun itself I believe.
But maybe it's the flu,
At least I hope I'm coming down with "it"
And whatever "it" is, I hope it's strong.
I'll pray for a dizzy mind; anything to forget this feeling in my chest.
I've ignored this pain before,
And burned my soul in process.
I guess I'll just admit my lies…
But first the protest!
And then sadly, I'll tell the truth, and admit
I'm just a little depressed.
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