Asp

Warmth floods in and I start to seize Muscle quakes and tremors cease My eyelids shoot about, trapeze For a second I don't even pant.

For this, made from the strangest trees Can take away the hours to please My deepest, dark infirmities And all this from a plant.

But then returns that well-known gasp The crack of voice and crooked rasp An oily, black, malignant asp My throat, a coat of ants.

I've tried to stop, but try and see How you live with this disease When your lungs and brain agree There's no such thing as "can't".