frame by frame
your life escapes me
little white pill
many mashed words in a
mixer like mom's 1950
powder blue or green
whatever my mind
sticks to whatever
memory pops out
whatever color smells right
like flour
wisps in sunlit circles
and by the time I write this
I am 30 years old
confined to my bed
in pain
high
higher still
too weak to resist the next four hours
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