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fever dream
night sweats
tossing, turning
by the blankets.
Anxiety, the turmoil
lost dreams
hopelessness -
orange juice
tastes like acid
there is acid
in my mouth,
and my stomach
is clawing
it's way
out of my body:
I go back to work
on Monday.
Back to work
on Monday;
this isn't worth it
even with a doctor's note.

I am sick of
being sick
isn't worth my time.
I used to be
a writer
I used to love
my life.
The shadows
pick on me
a third grade bully
out to break
my lunchbox
I never
saw him do it
I would just come back
to all those
little plastic pieces.
I am
in pieces;
little tiny fragments
and my mother
is far away.

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