Sometimes when the walls creep in
I think of you, not as a salvation
but as a sleep-aid, a solution to drift
instead of counting sheep that get to a bran
to open and re-open the throngs
of hooves coming my way
out of a dream- this is an unnecessary
part of the night that haunts
most of my experiences
but it makes a mark, over my skin
this wakefulness without
reference in a room I will borrow
for a week to coax, a vision of you
from my head- this would become
an attempt at making mine
your features. How is it that I
close my eyes on a familiar sight
and open them again inside my darkness
the visions stay and the uncalled for
openness, this body does not cooperate
when other people sleep, it wishes to
walk the streets, roam the night buds
there's a reason to the clock ticking
like water from a sink that keeps dropping
leaving behind open eyes, closed arms.
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