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Writer's pictureSarah Donkin

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I wake up with a dry mouth and

fuzzy head, and eyes that

try to ignore the sun berating me

from the middle of the sky


for falling asleep before it was

time to say goodnight. It is

warm, and too bright to hide under

a blanket like a worm under the earth,


ashamed. Four walls seem more

confining than the weight of the world

surrounding a hole in the ground

yet I am floating across the room and


pretending to listen to the background

radio, afraid to look at the clock.

Time sneaks away in a song and leaves

me wondering when the first chorus ended.

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