3am Musings

A bed that sweats cold around you
Creatures scratching at every orifice of the darkened room
A roaring in the distance draws dragons and disaster in your head
Maybe one day you will laugh at this
and the hollows of your eyes will fade
to crescent moons in the pale of your face

Or maybe you will weep
Tear the hair from its fading bed
and clutch at times fabric
with salty chapped hands

Or perhaps you will get stuck
staring at a wall

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