Thick lines of stereo flashing fake lights dance before me.
My head feels like it’s someone else’s,
The pain cuts but the thoughts are muffled.
The airholes block and contract and send me into sleepiness.
Weariness rules from a distant throne of smothered senses.
The liquid drips and starts and presents itself, much stronger, after each laboured breath.
Medicate, eliminate, dry up the symptoms and rest.
More tomorrow...
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