Stella Vinitchi Radulescu The consulting room

How is your breathing asked
the doctor and hold the stethoscope
close to my heart
I had in mind another thing
a chill an open door I seldom
act as a rat

Something buzzing over my head
was it enough
I appeared to be red on the screen
a muscle short figure obsessed
with life sitting

there and nowhere else no breathing
likewise
I looked outside it was silent
and dark and I said
thank you doctor for telling me
that I am dead


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