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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