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Feb 2010
At this moment, I am wedged between my tonsils.

Stuck, yet scrambling to stay still
                    (I am afraid to make a noise.)
Beneath me: there is nothing but an empty stomach,
                behind me: a neck which wears its weakness in its cracking
                        and before me: a tongue trapped in a clammy cage
                                    by a brain blanketed in discomfort.
Written by
Bryn-Clarke Worth
596
 
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