The red numbers fall in line
11:10 falls shy from my wishful thinking
Streetlights burn bright two blocks over
And I contemplate keeping the wick alight
As I bend my bones to fit the shape of a sleeper
Sunrise fire to wake the morning disquiet
But dreams are foreign and my brain won’t breathe tonight
Restless fingers gather ink blot stains and paper cut scars
Syllables of blood and fiction, imitating light
The weight of night tempts swollen eyelids
But moonlight soldiers on throwing shadows on my skin
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