Thick fingers grip my throat.

Cold settles around me,

The dark keeps me company.

Though I was sure I shut the door before I slept,

Dark shadows lean in,

I stumble to my feet, shut the door,

Keep those shadows out,

But when I turn the door is open again.

Did I imagine closing the door?

I go back and listen.

Sounds like a hacking cough,

Just like my own.

But there’s no one else here,

except sickness.

Published by

J.H. Dixon

What's this? An author's brand? You mean I have to boil down my complex human personality into something marketable? That's a lot of pressure. Where would I even begin? I have many facets. Many hats, if you will. One second I'm scribbling down heart-stopping thrillers, the next I'm writing a rhyming poem about a rabbit stealing eggs. What I'm writing could change any minute. No writer should have to stick to just one hat.

2 thoughts on “Sickness

  1. Heh, I currently happen to have a bad cough and a sore throat, so your descriptions are a little too relative for comfort at this moment. 🙂 Interesting how many sicknesses came to my mind that would fit that description, though — physical and mental. Nice double-entendre.

    Liked by 1 person

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