in sleep surrounded blankets lump in throat makes body little more than lump. the right way the third time twice failed before somewhere stars, night leaked the window (for i assume there was window the room) the throat made swallow it little lump yes i think i understand you lean windpipe rattle rough effusions and rough cartography that forearm that ached so long. that the hand lost feeling, that there is no sweet in ache, no pleasure in the final plea. that ache is always sharp and to abate it small distractions in cigarettes, lovers, photographs that don’t last long do they. how do i? where is courage in the losing struggle the sad refusal to sleep a room with window yes i think i understand you.

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