When I succumb to the slow poison,
Consciousness leeched from my ears,
I find another me, waiting for the chance.
And he has a wonderful life,
Or so it seems to me. He knows
All the types of people I would like to know.
He is chasing love, and finding tiny,
Glittering motes of care reflected back at him.
Each time I wake, we go from looking up at stars,
To looking up at a plaster ceiling.
And it is a little disheartening for me,
But for him, it's just a bad dream,
And at least one of us is happy.
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