I let everyone sleep while I pour over pillow stories, wondering if this is penance for greedy moments of slumber taken in lieu of coffees shared between friends tiptoeing around, foraging for snacks and coffee at 5AM slowly crinkling a Cliff bar out of its plastic prison I become what I hate ruining soft hours with incessant but quiet noise who knew it only takes six weeks to turn over a lifetime of public grievances; no rest for the modestly wicked sure changes people odd hours make you powerful the master of all sleep except your own, crawling into crooks of arms whispering “it’s time to get up” like the little voice deep down beckoning me to jolt awake and prepare the day for the sun to rise and strip me of my squandered magic
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