Tb Poem by Justin Reamer
Tb
Coughing, harking,
Wheezing, sneezing,
Blood coming from my throat,
I realise that this is the end for me,
For there is no coming back,
For the Red Death has touched me,
And Prospero has reached his end,
And the Masque is over,
There is no more time for theatrics,
For I cough...slowly,
And consumption,
That fine thing,
Will consume me,
Until I am no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 2:16:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
