Virus

Here is a poem my friend wrote a while ago... it is really awesome! (She had it all in one paragraph, but to make it easier to read, I just split up the sentences.)

It spreads to every corner of your body.
Every limb feels heavy with it, your brain processes slow, your mouth goes dry, and nausea churns in your stomach.
Sensors go into under-drive, and over-drive, simultaneously.
Things jumble in your mind, and nothing is easy to understand.
It spreads to every corner of your body.
You find it hard to breathe, you force your chest to rise and fall with large gulps of air, hoping they will steady you.
Every movement of the world around you startles you out of this painful reverie, but only for a second.
Back and forth, back and forth, between awake and unconscious.
Your blood feels like molasses in your veins.
And when you force yourself to breathe, the breath spreads out like the virus, through your blood to your hair follicles, your fingertips, your Achilles tendons.
It burns like fire as it fights, feels like a million million little stabbing knives, fighting, struggling against the virus.
But still the virus holds you down, constricting your throat, tying your stomach in sickening knots.
It holds you down, deadening you, suffocating you.
The virus hurts in its deadness, and tears come to your eyes.
This is how the virus works.
This is how panic kills.