Gentle, rhythmic clicking of a hand wound clock ticking gathers my thoughts as night seeps into this tired brain.
Hours before sleep in the haunts of a day misspent, efforts to dislodge memories leaves nothing but emotions unworthy of repeating.
Here, between nights descending rush and days infernal crush I grow impatient with slumbers hush.
Ticking, unwinding spring gathering my thoughts it seems.
Bent on releasing each phrase born in mid slumbers rooms, nearly asleep this night I’m doomed..
Between worlds till morning I am found, with twisted, sweated coverlets to my bed bound,
Will she ill use me in another realm, or shall tonight shutter days fight and in sleep I be found..


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