A head cold for society

There is a burning in my head,
A desire for dread as I feel the pressure,
It's situated like a cushion in my brain,
I am tender.

My eyes are sore, when my breath is taken,
My nostrils inflict me, like an acid network
Behind my face.
You tell a woman, then she will mock,
For this is just man flu,
The cure is in the stock.

Still I breathe, it lingers, I long to smoke,
But to withstand the pain in my throat,
Physically I am well, but mentally I have descended
Or in a manner of speaking, I have declined.
Is it the marajuiana, or is it the cheap english wine?
Whomever it is, too which I hold my fate,
I will conquer its demon and spit in its face.

For I am a man, who knows no illness,
No scented candles, no natural cure,
Just a pain in my heart for my love of the poor.