I think the most poetic thing about the flu
Is the resulting weakness
The fever's fire hollowing me from the inside out
Burning holes in my bones and muscles
******* my body dry of blood
Then replacing it with
Weakness, frailty, and, my inability to move
Feeling thin and worn
Bony and small and vulnerable, like a baby bird
And a throbbing head
The gnomes are back with a vengeance
Doubled over with pain in my side and belly
Yep, the weakness is definitely the most poetic