in the early hours
of yet another year
green cogs turn inside my eyes
the stones are turning
your skin writhes
is this a flashback
is this a glitch in time
please, doctor
my eyes
dust is falling from the ceiling
like clouds of smoke
or spiders
webs twitch in the dark
I can feel my skin
drying out
tightening over the bones
how will my bones breathe
how will my lungs
I taste ash
doctor, please
there are spiders on my tongue
my mouth is ulcered
there are weeds inside my eyes
there are weeds
i can smell the soil
six feet overhead


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