I awaken from asleep
between the snowy sheets
that rise
and fall in billowy
drifts of cotton.
it's three a.m.
I see the fan
above swirl
in the shadows,
I touch my arm,
my face to see if i'm
still alive.
I am.
what's come and gone
hasn't killed me.
this is not a dream.
I don't want morning
to arrive,
I don't want another
night to start.
here is a good place
to be.
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