Ode to Illness (Draft 1)

Ode to Illness (Draft 1)

You never see it coming
Until it’s spread far and wide
Like it was thrown into a fan, still humming
And there is no good place to hide.
Everything about it is sour
From the taste in your mouth to the smell.
Sitting on rumpled and almost sticky bed sheets all day long
A minute becomes an hour.
The sound of the TV helps to quell
And the softness of sleep helps as well.
Illness is a devil to be reckoned with.