Every night I
play Russian Roulette with sleep
instead of bullets.
Dead tired
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Every night I
play Russian Roulette with sleep
instead of bullets.
I said I’d be in
bed by ten. Then midnight. Now
it’s one. How ’bout three?
I lock the TV
behind the armoire doors so
I can get work done.
Some days it feels like
all I do is sit on this
couch and write for hours.
Home sick, she lies in
bed, stomach queasy, still in
her day-before clothes.
Halloween spirit
eludes me, like the ghost of
someone I once loved.
When the going gets
tough, I end up sleeping on
the couch, fully clothed.
The review called her
‘fetching’ – wrapped in bandages,
convulsing, bleeding.
Suddenly it’s too
chilly to wear a tshirt.
Autumn’s in the house.
Hurricanes…wildfires…
tornadoes…earthquakes…not here.
Safe beyond measure.