Parched

What a hellish feeling
bubbling within.
Hunched up in a nervous wreck
I'm clutching to my pen.
I'm writing down my dying words,
I'm forcing out the voice.
Lying on the floor I'm wondering
if I have a choice.
Growing old, a frozen cold wind
whips upon my will.
All I've had has been destroyed
and I'm left here dead-still.
Within I'm all filled with the spore,
I'm blowing in a gale.
I cough up blood, I drink it down,
I'm drunk, as though on ale.
My screams don't make a single sound
yet still cause such a din.
The end has come and now I've found
it's too late to begin.