The Cage Beneath

The cough rips through me,

a dry, tearing sound.

My chest, a hollow drum,

aches without bounds.

I pull the thin shirt tight,

but it's no shield, no ease.

Just the cold air, biting,

and the shiver of disease.

These bones, a cage,

thin bars,

holding everything soft

beneath their scars.

I press my palm down hard,

feel the ridge, the stark line,

a scaffold built for breath,

but now it just defines

the small, sharp pain inside,

a trapped bird trying to fly.