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What Wakes Me in the Night

I’ve been standing in this space, caught between a thousand yesterdays, right now, and the shapeshifting fox of tomorrow for what feels like eternity disguised as mere seconds. Somewhere a clock ticks. I flinch. It sounds like judgement. A gavel. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tomorrow pours in but it’s wearing yesterday’s clothes. Is the future hungover? Just messy eyeliner and wrinkled clothes?  I glance at my feet and consider running, from what… I’m not sure. Am I running towards something or away from something else? I must hesitate for way too long because the floor gives out beneath me. I am being sucked through the tiny space of a giant hourglass of my life.  The sand on top of me is in my eyes, it’s in my hair, it’s slipping passed me, but I can’t get through the space. I don’t think I want through that space.   I’m pulling my feet back up, trying desperately to climb a nonexsistant wall of raining sand. Where am I going? What am I doing? I can’t fucking breathe in here. In these shoes, with the sand, in this glass… under your lens.  I can’t fucking breathe in here. 




This post first appeared on Jameson & Vinyl, please read the originial post: here

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What Wakes Me in the Night

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