Throat burns. Blood in mucus. Ears ring with tinnitus. Joints burn. Each knee and my ankle feel vulnerable. By sunrise, the test confirmed it. Monday night to Tuesday morning, a rancid blur.
Aches spread to muscles. Deep rasping cough. Aches. No taste. No smell. A headache like a spear into the cranium. Thudding heart. Cramps in calves, thighs, and arms. Sleep. Awake for soup. Struggle to keep it down.
Wednesday’s test once again shows it is still here. Cough syrup, useless. Painkillers fail to silence the drumming head. Up and down, burning pee, constant walks from bed to bathroom to bed.
Tortured night changes to grim day. Thursday, a day I was born on, gives no relief. I crave fruit and air and freedom. The twisted bug grips me. I test again. Not positive. Negative. Yet symptoms come and go, and ache me.
By evening I recall Kafka’s Metamorphosis, rewritten by Sissay. Missed it. Can’t go out. No focus. Not well enough for work, nor play. Rest. Recoup. Battle the symphony of the virus’s stampede through my head and body.
Friday comes soon. What next? Dear CoViD-19, what will you bring?
AGAINST THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC - ACTON28.BLOG 