He never liked the taste of medicine.
He would always get sick,
but would never take anything for it.
No Tylenol, no Advil, not even a few cough drops.
He would just suffer silently through it.
His sweetheart would always hound him about it,
saying that someday it'll be the death of him.
He never paid attention to her,
always ending the little spiels with a kiss to her temple.
Then she would drive home,
She spent the afternoon at his place one winter,
nursing him in his fever,
as he still refused any and all medicines or drugs.
She gave him her lecture, as usual.
And she drove home,
but never made it.
He remembered getting the news,
falling to his knees
with tears slowly soaking into his shirt,
cracks slowly forming in his heart.
Yet to this day, years later,
he still refuses to forget her.
But, only now, by his bed,
there's always a bottle of cough drops.
This is so sad, but it's lovely too. I really like the ending to it.
I know someone like this, though I do think he'll take cough drops on occasion. His reasoning is that medication messes him up, but I just wish he would take something and get better instead of suffering.
Hahah, I don't take medicine because I think that if you need it
in times of sickness,
when you run out,
Aww this is so sad
I really didn't mean it to be, honestly.
It was just something I wrote because I was sick and ran out of Halls
But thank you for reading it.
I think that my newer poems are better though.
well now I'm getting assaulted by feels
good job with this, it's very emotional and real
I'm actually not completely satisfied with it, but I can't make it better.
It just doesn't hit me as much as I'd like it to.