Awake, I feel the pain, an illness, a vileness inside, it’s all-consuming.
My sole coherent speech is to beseech Jesus. …
My head spins, internal, diabolical swim.
I seek a dark space, a semblance of sensory peace,
before my soul completely dissolves. …
I hold my breath and shut my eyes.
… My only escape: tomorrow.
I hope,
I can dream…
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
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