Bronchitis Attacks

Cold shivers run up and down the body. The sickness is startin to run its course.
Phlegm fills up every inch of my tobacco scarred lungs. Slight relief comes only by coughing
Coughing isn't fun until it starts ripping everything in the chest to shreds.
"You're runnin a fever" the doctor slowly states in his monotone voice. "No shit" I retort. "Turn the damn air on!"
This just in: Climbing stairs has been linked to causing cancer. Oh well, add it to the list.
Imitation orange cough syrup piss the taste buds off...maybe it was supposed to be imitation grape. Whatever, all of them make me want to vomit.
Lungs feel like they're ready to collaspe. I should quit cigarettes and greenary, my lungs tell me they aren't helpin much.
Sweat soaks the shirt. At least it's coolin me off a lil.
"Make sure you take all the medicine," the crusty old lady remarks. Why? If I'm feelin better you best believe I'm not putting anymore of that vile liquid down my throat.
The end is somewhere around the corner, maybe tomorrow, though probably not. This stuff never really goes away. It waits for the opportune moment to strike, making the body hate its own existence.