Sleep and I
Rough and tumble like a wasp getting pulled into the sludgy earth.
Sleep and I.
Gave up twilight.
Separated.
We both eat butterfly legs or so we think.
Sleep and I tangle with other stuff like old coffee mugs with a musty smell.
And chalk boards in a secret room that I thought was hidden by keeping my eyes open.
I feast on whatever is left on the floor.
After most stuff sinks in.
Sleep borrows stuff like that.
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