the toll of the night

you do not have to be particularly unhappy;
sometimes all you need is to not be happy
enough. then you get your gaiety booster
prescribed by a man in white, and you wonder
a week later how on earth you woke up
on this uncomfortable bed with your arm
connected to a drip, the sound of wheeze
coming from the bed on the right and moaning
from the other side. and when will the bell
of a nearby cathedral toll another hour
until the next inevitable examination
of your subjection?

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