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Looking upward to a sky where there's never the motion of my illness. A moment of stillness, a moment of beauty within this envionment that makes me sick. I'm spinning here with me, dancing in circles fancy free. Sick to death of you, sick of me being in this cylindrical, clinical room. How about getting off these antibiotics? For a moment of straightness, a moment of clarity alongside my wonderful friend, my liver. The dance sends us a blurr, whisltling past in a spiral whirr. Sick to death of you, sick of me being in this cylindrical, clinical room.
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