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From my bed, 1:21 AM

April 30, 2015

I know that I will wake tomorrow, but
I feel as if I’ll die.
My lungs don’t seem to drink this nighttime air,
as heavy rib bones lie
upon them. All the muscles wrapped beneath
my skin are tired, and ache–
not ache, they throb–not throb, they’re just too tired
to lift my chest, to slake
the fading brain’s desire for breath. No deep
inhale, no shaking yawn,
can feed my ill desaturated blood.
(My poetry is gone).

Faint thoughts of love and melancholy pain
curl with me as I lie:
I know that I will wake tomorrow, but
I feel as if I’ll die.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. April 30, 2015 10:18 am

    This doesn’t sound good. What’s going on?

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