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Sweat

07 Sep

Cold sweat slipping down my back, a stifled scream as I bolt upwards, reaching for the shadows.

Maybe preacher man should exorcise these demons, maybe these thoughts could be tamed by a fuck.

But for now there is an empty bed, unmade, unwashed, springs sticking up like raw diamond.

Eyes ablaze searching for comfort, or movement. Or just hope.

I lay back and feel the perspiration sink into the fabric and watch the ceiling bend.

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