Zywa
In my rooms
Suddenly it was different
the toggles turned over
and I was picked up
I brace myself, fallen through
something, a membrane
between order and overpower
Carry me away, I want heavens
of pastel and gray after the outings
in my room and in the hallway
not a dropped ceiling
Back home, in the light
of my own windows
between the plants, the pillar
and the post of pain
thinly covered with anxious dreams
in which I don't want to be snowed under
no matter how tight the ties squeeze
In pyjamas I suffer myself
clamping my cup in my hands
I won't let go
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