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.

Words, words, glorious words! Give me all of your words!

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