sweat-soaked bed,
burdened by my weight which grows heavier
with every moment I spend straddling the line dividing the light
and the dark which tears through the souls of people
who have known both.

the last time this window was open my brother fell out
and now he spends his days drawing with a package of
crayons which melt when faced with the son of reality,
a classical painting in a museum of modern art.

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