Up (3)

The pain is almost blinding now, and a new thought has been rising
up rhythmically in my head, like a record skipping. Up. Up. Up.
It’s joined by an image of my office tower. It’s taller than my
apartment, the tallest place I can think off and although the bulge
on the back of my neck is the size of a peach, the skin stretched
shiny, and I’m dizzy and my eyes are cloudy, I think I can make it
there. Up.

No. I’m sick. I need help.

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