My throats dry.
It's an itch I can't scratch.
The feelings resilient.
I've finally met my match.

Until I clear it
And the itch is long forgotten.
Swallowed in normality.
This victory is rotten.

Water is a cure.
Maybe a honey lemon Halls.
I shall not find defeat
In my scratchy throats walls.

If I had let it stay
Until there was no choice
But to cough
When I needed my voice

The itch would've won
and I'd be ever so glad
to have given pride
to a feeling so bad.

But it's gone
Until it soon returns.
I'll clear my throat again
Because a body never learns.