Zywa
In past and impossible
After others I see myself
dying between these walls
whirling through the day
like a butterfly, too fragile
to be able to enjoy
what life is offering
I still have my wings
In the brighter colours
of midazolam and morphine
that distort the world
past and impossible
are melted
into heaven and fear
of pain that I do not feel
until I wake up frightened
from the emergency cries
of my broken body
that calls for redemption
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