Within myself is a miasma.
Its the reason for my asthma.

It fogs the clarity of my sight
and forces regurgitation despite

shots,pills and Oxford accreditation.
They say it is a virus with"complications."

I already knew there would be no antidote
Its obvious in the way I constantly spat and choked.

I always excuse myself in an outbreak.
Wash the blood off my lips and and cope my heartache.

For a moment I can recollect myself in this disease
between the convulsions and the wheeze.

I begin to find a state of equilibrium.
And ***** myself on the tile podium.

Yet as I stare into the mirror all I can see within
Is the fury writhing underneath my skin.