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Four and not quite twenty in the morning

January 13, 2016

Written during a very strange moment waking strangely enough at 4:20 in the morning.

No, I wasn't under the influence of any substances.

But it sure seemed like it.

And...edited a little.

 

Four not quite twenty in the morning and

some snoring beast is stirring up my eyes

to open rose-colored into an apocalypse

of scarlet ceilings, demons in the snow

outside rumbling as the radiator makes

that krait-hiss when it’s ready to strike

and I check my neck for bite marks

for a vampire invited by accident

but no dapper devil’s next to me

just a gap between the firewall

and me to meet the glory glint

in its quartz rose hole like

a blazing third eye, like

my mind is watching

watching me toss

watch me turn

goosebumped

up and down

my neck and

rush my back

to break the

chest to break

the think and

I am wrestling

                                                                             I am resting

Close your eyes.                                                                             I am rest in

                                                                                                       paradox of

Close your eyes.                                                                             wake or

                                                                                                       damn.

Close your eyes.

 

The scarlet fever won’t scare you.

It is Sartre in absentia.  It is absinthe.

It is only the inside of your birthstone,

your garnet locket discourse through your

disco-colored glasses.  Do not be disturbed

by the radiating snake, or the snow leopards

bloodied in your brain, or the sneaking suspicion

of sickness stuck between clocks of twenty and four

and not quite twenty and not quiet and quiet and cry.

 

Close your eyes and cry.

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Ryan Oliveira

Ideas.  I'm full of them.

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