The Sound of Illness

Awake in the dark, my chest rattles like chains,

a cough that won’t fade, its rhythm contains

muffled reminders of a past I can't shake,

faces shift awkwardly—some silence, some shake.

I fought through the meeting, my throat felt like sand,

as pity pooled in the air, a thick, heavy band.

Each wheeze drew a glance, each cough drew a sigh,

a tension in voices, as whispers drift by.

The cup sits beside me, cold, empty, and bare,

a vessel of comfort, long gone is the care.