Nocturne

Day 18
Poem 18

This is based on yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt: a nocturne. Another poem inspired by Emerald City. Kind of a sonnet.

Nocturne

It’s not worth it, the dreams
that hang in swags over bedposts,
full of voices no on else
will hear. I only want sleep
if it’s the oblivious kind,
solely darkness.

Younger girls twitch
like puppies, innocent.
They won’t be so sweet
when the lights come on
but sleep makes us all small-
me so small I might tumble

down the space between the pillows
and suffocate.

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