Refurbished Simplicity

My bed drenched in a sweat only a fever dream can produce.

Clouds linger with a persistence that suggest trouble on the horizon.

Breeze blows in through the smallest crack of an open window with furious intentions.

What hell can compare to the pestilence of a seasonal flu whose determination trumps that of modern medicine?

If I could withstand the punishment for a moment longer I would consider myself worthy of a fate which surely has escaped me.