The ceiling fan cools sweat on my forehead
And I open scars just a little to bleed these words.
My pulse beats a slow tempo in my ears in this midnight heat
I mix old pain and night magic like blue notes from an ancient saxophone
The walls creak back to me a susurration of evening shades
Hurt and triumph, sorrow and solace
I sweat this cancer from my pores
The product of my calloused hands-my calloused heart
So tonight I weave these words, I sing this melancholy melody
To the chorus of the night birds
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