Stroke, by midnight

Your left
didn't speak
too your right
anymore
Stroke,
by midnight
You were
two halves
The morning
a splattered
sunny-side up
The day smeared 
thick rancid butter
on toast
Your smile
distorted
as in 
a hall of mirrors
In the sanitised
white room
silver mercury
like flowers
quivering in a vase
pronounces your fever
in degrees
The monitor
a melon-red cacophony
drew 
a long straight line

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