Ward but he refused
That night, I cried
He was resolute
I stole the fountain pen
Of a night-shift nurse
To write an entry
To my journal
Trying to steal
Neruda’s attention
When the nurse
Caught me, Neruda
Felt guilty and he
Opened the windows
If only I could run
Away with him but
I am tied, tired
Of eloping.
Anxiety is my shadow
I swallow a sparrow
There is a lump
On my throat
My journal is bleeding
I asked for the doctor
But he told me
I am just dreaming
#
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