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The Grip
I lay silent,
Still to the world.
Eyes closed—mouth shut,
My position is slightly curled.
Free from constraints,
My unconscious mind wanders.
Then it happens again,
I’m startled by a clutter.
A habit of this becomes my nights,
There really is no end in sight.
For I’ve been startled,
Three weeks in a row.
The end will soon come,
I surely must know.
But I’ll worry it later,
Now I must return to bed.
Time to mute the screams,
That are inside of my head.
I’ll be back again later,
Maybe a quarter at best.
But if I keep it up long enough,
I may finally get some rest.
-end-
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