they were always so much taller
the men in my dreams
tall shoulders, massive sweating arms
blood on their hands and sneering indignation.
laying on my back
waiting for the pink medicine
waiting for the nurse to come in
waiting for the covers, waiting for the zipper bags.
forced feedings, beeping machines
plugged into 20 metal boxes.
they tell me i'm fine, they comfort me into letting go.
i'm leaving; i'm already gone.
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