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I sat by your side, with one clammy nervous hand to your cheek and the
other around your waist, as I thought of the middle of the night phone call.
Found on the street…
Saying you felt like you were going to die.
And I start to believe that irony can be distressing, when I flash to 3:00 a.m. and endless re-runs of intervention.
While I cried and shook like withdrawal symptoms could be contagious, begging there to be something better on.
Anything else on.
For some one,
To come and push the off button, because I haven’t the strength, or the energy, or the nerve.
Maybe then I could have gotten some sleep.
But I’d much rather be by your bed side.

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