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PoetryB-Sides

I itch to scratch
the night from my skin
peel the light
from my eyes
held within this limbo hour
where time
it ticks so slow
the weight of every second
tolls in my head
each toss and turn
in slow motion
as I feel my rib bones
arch tiredly
resistant
against the too thin mattress
fragile at these hours
the sky holds that color
that no lens can capture
I have never seen a picture
like the way
the dim blues
loom in my room
as the lines of the furniture
slowly swing
back to clarity

slow the minutes
the torturous hours
waking a still minute
after a dream
a whole day spent
picking my teeth
out of my mouth
tossing them aside
to attend to business
careless, I woke
gasping
at my lack of care
slow the seconds turn
tolling pounding with my pulse
so loud in my ears
the tell tale adrenalin
keeps me from sleeping
and oh these hours
which spread across my time
like the eighth day
I don't cope with them well
too used to moving with the speed
of daylight
the rapid turn of sunset
into the warm air of evening

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