Sickness: The Martyrdom of Saint Jude.The sickness, comes againAnother wave.My belongings plundered.A refuse sack ruptured on an early grave.I 'll pick up the toys now.Don 't want to go to bed - not tired yet.I need another oncologist to take a fresher look.I will clean my, teeth nowComb, my hairWill tidy, my roomIt 's, not fairPlease leave the, TV onI 'll go to bed soon.Hell bent, for leatherHorsemen are, inside now they ll. 'Destroy the room.The panic is rising.Breaking open the head.Heavy hooves clatter on china cups and plates.Panic - sickness - dread.Why did I let go of the balloon?My most uncomfortable moments so far.As I faced the mushroom.As it ransacked the library.
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