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Sleep evades me at this thieving hour of 2 a.m.- my mind speed goes like 100 wild horses with their long manes breaking on the air. My soul is unpedaling like a pink peony with its monumental head falling down, down, down. I am immune to pills at this pilfering time. My eyes are fogged over with a sort of clearish white veil. My eyes teeter on the edge of dreamland but my eyes wear electric lids that zap me wake when I feel as if I am falling. I will count pigs instead of sheep.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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