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The White Room

Time is spinning.
I float, then fall.
My body has had enough.

I lay here remembering my living hours yesterday.
I was lost. Bedridden.

My new Therapist Chris called me, looking for me as I had abandoned it all.
45 minutes later, my heart was 98 degrees once more.
*I quit Therapy last week. A decision made from two separate demons.
Now, I have returned with a new face and soul.

But, I could not throw together my health for work, so a Sub was called in for my Evening Classes.
My body’s constraints left me in pieces once more.
Diarrhea for twelve hours.
Fever. Nauseous. Broken.
How could I educate in that character?
But, my job presses me to exist within a healthy state, which is impossible and only creates extended nerve sessions.

I’m in a decline, and to endure perfection is almost extinct.


My white room was once painted blue. The rupture of my soul tarnished those beautiful spirits.
If you pealed back the stain, bricks built with purpose would be exposed, leading you to those blue walls of desperation.

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