Ill as owt.

In sickness, and in health.

One day, it stings when you swallow too hard,
when you clench your jaw, and your sigh, it's nothing.
Following morning, your throat is tight, and you cough
shrug it off, though something's not right.

Throughout the day blame the smoke
that filters through your chest, and you know you should stop
but you brush it off just like the rest,
of the splutters and the mutters and the sniffs.

Until the blood starts to seep, from every corner,
from my ears, and my throat,
cry for you don't know what's really going on.
Don't google the symptoms, you'll just get it wrong.

I'm sick, really sick, fucking sick, don't you know.
My girl she will watch me till the night when she must go.
She'll be back in the morning, with kisses, soup and tea.
She worries for she cares so very much, and loves me.