In the depths of solitude at the hands of pressing night,
with nothing stirring except the murmurs of outside and the
steady pulse of a digital clock, display as red as the
beating, thumping of your heart against your chest
sliding under chilly covers, eyes against the ceiling watching
shadows dance in your eyes and feeling the dark
press around you.
And exhaling the most
quiet sigh that only you can hear within your shell of
utmost singularity,
are you happy?
The only question I can bring myself to ask.
The only answer I can't bring myself to hear.
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