Stranger still are the fever dreams
arriving with dangerous vibrancy,
the wheels come wholly off,
a restless sleep,
not restful when the room’s edges
keep smearing off
in half-conciousness,
I am too cold. I am too hot.
Everything else real is muddled,
and everything unreal is not.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
You’ve captured this state so well!
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Thanks, and blergghh 🙂
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I’ll see your blergghh and raise you one glumfffff!
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