I’m wasting away to nothing,I’m burning up with fever.I’m a ghost of my former self,half-consumed already by terminal illness.My jaws ache from gritting my teeth;I’m nothing but skin and bones.I’m like a buzzard in the desert,a crow perched on the rubble.Insomniac, I twitter away,mournful as a sparrow in the gutter.All day long my enemies taunt me,while others just curse.They bring in meals—casseroles of ashes!I draw drink from a barrel of my tears.And all because of your furious anger;you swept me up and threw me out.There’s nothing left of me—a withered weed, swept clean from the path.