Tossing and turning,
In my bed,
Memories, churning,
Blood in my head.
Salt in my bloodstream,
Night in my salt,
Anything innocent,
Isn't my fault.
Flaws in my fault line,
Cracks in my flaws,
Throwing my hours,
Through cold, open doors.
Marks on my woodwork,
Marks, dark and light,
I predict yet another,
Disturbed, sleepless night.
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