"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."