‘Tussin ‘n’ Turnin’

As I lay in bed, sober, I think about death. I breathe in deeply and my ribs stab my heart. I toss and turn and my stomach churns. A vicious thought enters my head. It burns. Occasionally, I remedy this with a nitrous balloon and a floating cocoon made of dextromethorphan and Frédéric Chopin, to carry me off to a distant dreamland.

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