Vitamin C

It's a pitiful thing  
to wake up in the night  
with a dusty throat  
and crusty eyes  
and a head so heavy  
you suffer; decide  
to roll over: fuck water,  
fuck food, I'll be fine...  
 
Alas, in the morning, the steps must be made,  
despite all the games well reality-played,  
because headaches get old, and so does the pain;  
all the heat; the skull-pressing congestion; the shakes...  
 
But a bit of this sickness  
comes off on my sleeve;  
nearly nothing can stand  
up to sun on the street -  
any virus grows weak  
at the fire in my eyes,  
unextinguished; unused  
and so mad at the miles -  
 
I'm still pissed at the distance  
between you and me,  
so I'll force-feed this illness  
its Vitamin C.