ChronicIllness

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When I think of inspiration I think of you. The ways you’d play the flute while in need of a lung transplant, I haven’t got a clue. How you’d smile and wheel your oxygen while I carried your books. 
I sat up at night thinking what I needed Thinking about what I had lost, thinking about if I was lost Night sweats, Night terrors, Nights up, all night I was up, all fucking night
Imagine you wake up after a full night’s sleep Feeling as if you got no sleep at all. Your joints ache and creak. You can barely walk out of your bedroom. You sit around your house all day,
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