tastes like shit in my mouth,
not yet expired
though sun-stroked to the core
i lay sick on a blanket in the middle of july
delirious in not much of a dream state
the sounds of wings and summer
blow the breeze through thousand little holes
i despise the spoon
and the sorted hand
it hurts my throat
even more when
my mouth is dry, chapped, and lazy
when i am sick
laying like a babe on a sheet in the middle of summer for all the breeze to blow upon
my medicine,
taste like shit
owned by none but me
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