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high ceilings in low times
every now and then
when i feel my head begin to fill with cotton
i slowly gaze up
and i can't tell if the ceilings feel higher
or if i feel smaller
if the way i feel has suddenly presented itself onto my body
small, and ever-shrinking
and i can't help but fear the cotton in my head
and the shortness of my breath
and the rhythm of my heart
all things that keep me reminded of how real i am
and how small.
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