The Insomniac Dreams

The center of night
stretches into the street,
hugging hovering lights,
the wet air
pummeling the sidewalk.

From this night I arrive
back to where they received
retribution for my misdeeds–
their fists sunk into me, my stomach
slamming into itself.

My mind carries along
to that old school, entering
a windowless room, imagining summer
sleeping in piles along the fence,
the gum-stained carpets
contrived into paw prints.

When I used to lie
in my room, I would turn
to the ceiling, waiting–
it was never calm, now
the night passes through me.
All those things
seem like they never were.

Inspired by the Sunday Scribblings post: Wander.

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