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A few words first…

I do not consider myself any kind of writer, or poet, or whatever.  This is the product of being awake at 4am, a time that I consider the true dead of night.  And even though I may now be feeling a little more resolved, a little less of this, I believe it warrants expressing all the same.

In the July heat
I’m wrapped in blankets
But still I feel cold

My eyes, tired and heavy
Stare into the black
But sleep does not come

My stomach aches with hunger
But food has no taste
My throat can barely move to swallow

My mind is racing
Searching for understanding
Feeling betrayed by destiny

Too right to be wrong
Too good to not be true
Too real to be denied as just a dream

Inside, I am screaming
Inside, I am weeping
Outside, I am stone

I’ve spent so many nights away, by myself
I’ve even spent a night in a cold, steel cell
Never did I imagine that after finding my home
I would feel




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