Rotting By Illness

What good is my being when I cant be myself. The only thing i am good at I cant deliver rap. A virus shredded my skin and dwelled deep within. And all am doing is rotting on my remains. My throat can't empower my words My mind cant think 'em My eyes get blurry every single time i blink' em Lying in my bed as a dying rotting carcass I am choking my lungs on my own putrefaction I rise each day picking my body's every fraction But i cant seem to find even with floor any attraction My head cant balance my body on floor I fall on to grapple every nearing door My feet dont agree to take me to door It's not my throat anymore but stomach that roars No matter how much i bathe no matter how much i scrub, rotting things can't get rid of their odour. I feel like a zombie, bed is my grave and am rotting in my own living remains