cryogenic dysmorphia

there is a
pall
that hovers
over
sundays

a sense
of
my own
existence
ending

put back
into
cryogenic
sleep
again

relegated
to
popsicle
status
for weeks

the silence
screams
in a way
the chatter
doesn’t

empty
apartment
empty
head
of hopelessness

4 thoughts on “cryogenic dysmorphia

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