I'm Dying

I'm sick and I tend to be dramatic about it. So, I made up a poem of me complaining to my "muse" about it. I found it amusing. I will post some of the story soon, I promise!

“I think I’m going to die.”
“Oh really, why?”
I frowned at him.
He tends to be a bit dim.
“Because, muse, I’m ill!”
“Colds don’t usually kill.”
“I can’t hear
At all, out of my ear!”
“You’ll die for certain.
Might as well close the curtain.”
“You can be so mean!”
“Pardon me, my queen.”
“You only called me that because it rhymes.”
“Eh, add it to my list of crimes.”
It’s no wonder “Vlad”
Rhymes with bad.
“I’m dying for sure!”
“And there’s no cure?”
As I glared, to my chagrin,
He played an air violin.