Inside a sweaty steel tube with fake air
Filling my lungs with chemicals that gently
Reassure, but real air between my feet and
My fate will turn my heart fast into a
Slow and steady ring in my ears that
Soaks and spreads to my muscles, the way
The letters run together when you write
Your name in the snow. No high or
Low can ease the ache that body
Brings before the mind. It could be
Colorblind and not even know it, by
Then it has lost all control. The best
Thing to do is box me up and ship me
Where I want to go. As long as
The label is legible, so I will know.
I am Buster, but not funny, barely able
To stand after the fall that never landed.
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