Sleep is always
Being hunted by thoughts
Like wolves at dawn,
It pokes through my window blinds.
Thoughts,
That wail, whorl
And scream between my ears.
Like a whirlwind of teeth
Claw, and I am stuck
On a glimpse
Predominantly of perfumed
Hair,
And the occasional thought
Of wondering what
It'd feel like,
Running between my fingers.
I guess its an improvement
Sleep or no,
A pretty lady is preferable
To the thoughts that came before,
And try to resurface
Anytime I'm up to my shoulders
In shit.
I really do think,
I'd rather lay wakeful of you
Than for any of the dark things
The blistery things
Every weepy glimpse that
Used to
Accompany a bang,
And always ending in
Dripping silence.
But then
What man is unique
That is restless?
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