Again I face my post-it wall,
just me, and Solitude—
My steady stool, my Panadol,
my tissues, fully ****.

With me: my cookies, wire & soup,
and don't forget the Phone—
For as I sulk, and as I coop,
Posture, degrades the Bone.

So as I'm waiting patiently
for Marriage, Love and Wealth—
My Sickness independently
will sabotage my Self.