Mouth Breather

I stare at the screen,
eyes half open,
nose red and raw,
head in a fog.

I almost forget what it's like
to be
sick.
Until it catches me again.

I don't catch the cold.
It always
catches me.

My bed yields
as I crumple into the covers
three hours
too early.

Mason jar full of
water,
well-stocked tissue
box.
All of the nightstand
essentials.

Ready to heal.

I hate being a
mouth breather.