A dry desert feeling creeps up my throat
I can almost feel the bright,
Red color lining the soft tissue.
Body aches starting at all twenty digits,
Eventually make their way throughout the body.
Sickness.

To some an excuse for rest,
"So why does sickness make me so upset?"
I try to scream,
But, alas, my voice is lost.

Ah, the voice,
What a silly instrument,
"Silly how," you may ask.
Well, it's weak.

Why can't my two ***** of vibrating tissue,
Stay healthy?
I need to use those stubborn chords,
My voice should not be diminished,
It should be strong.
This is a major problem,
That, to others, may seem minor.

Sing the notes,
Finish the chord,
Don't be flat,
That doesn't mean go sharp.
ENOUGH!
I can't even sing.

Unable to participate in a pleasurable passion,
All because of a
****
Weak
Immune System.

For anyone who is so inclined:

https://soundcloud.com/apexparadigm/sets/sunrise

The rhythm hits me first,
Off-beat, syncopated, unpredictable,
Yet I find my foot tapping in perfect time,
My body synchronised with an ever-changing pulse.

Then the bass,
Driving, moving forward, eager,
I find my legs moving with it,
My body pulled by a promise of more.

Then the chords,
Dissonant, unresolved, uncertain,
Yet my ears enjoy every one,
My body desperate to understand the logic behind them.

Then the melody,
Haunting, minor, hesitant,
Yet my eyes are drawn to those that sing,
My body overwhelmed with bare emotion.

Then the lyrics,
Hopeful, free, safe,
And I find myself singing along,
To a song I didn't know, but that resonates in my heart.

It doesn’t matter what I type
As long as I type words
It doesn’t faze me what the hype
As long as I infer
The lyrics although musical
Just bounce inside my head
They always start with music
But the  words come out instead