RUMINATIONS OF A BLOATED, ALBEIT POSSIBLY RECOVERING, HYPOCHONDRIAC 

My throat feels weird,

My joints are stiff,

My belly is distended,

Everything’s just as I feared,

Won’t function as intended,

Still, I hold my panic back,

Knowing this too will likely pass,

Except that one time with the heartattack,

It’s usually just gas.

English, motherfucker, do you speak it? J/K - it's ok if you don't.

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