"I'll protect you!" it cries,
But it is not wanted.
The phlegm that smothers the back of my throat,
Hoping to sheath it beneath my rasping cough
For fear of its threat to tear and raise reddened flesh
But I refuse, reject it
Much like the concerned bystander
Who is shunned by the despaired soul on the building's ledge.
I assault it with tea, water, and antihistamines
But it clings fast.
"Don't push me away," it begs.
"I'm here to help."