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[personal profile] swirlsofpurple
 

He lies in bed, unmoving,

From some inexplicable, intangible force,

There is no energy,

Rising is gargantuan, impossible,

Irreconcilable weight.

There is despair, only.

He stares at the pill bottle, unopened.

 

His stomach rumbles, empty,

The pots and pans, unwashed,

There is no dish-soap,

He opens the pill bottle, considers,

And closes it again, unused.

Maybe he’ll try tomorrow, anew.

He says this every day.

 

He picks up a pill, swallows,

There is no revelation, no epiphany,

He washes a fork,

And opens a can of sweetcorn,

This is something, enough.

It has to be enough, today.

He carries on.

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