Adam Scott


Disconnected

These cracked and snapped remnants which were once ribs,
Right arm encapsulated in concrete,
These visions at night that play on repeat,
Intravenous intervening in drips.

The skin on my face just hanging in strips,
This box on my right plays a one-tone beat.
This mask full of air that hinders my speech,
My hand and fingers refusing to grip.

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