clinical.
July 14, 2013 § 5 Comments
in another night without
breath, with a voice
dryly singing in whispers; hooked up
to a stranger’s blood-in-a-bottle
in another night without
a sign of fever, coming down
without breath, with curtains drawn
around the sickening sleeplessness
and the iron lung every ten seconds
blinking like cloud and stars
‘I’m here, in my existence’
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