they call sleep the "little death". a prelude to the larger more expansive death. a glimpse into the darkness beyond.
in my tiny death i am haunted by him. by things that can never be. by moments that are lost to me now.
and every morning. when i wake. alone. i die even more.
and i damn every waking moment. every passing second that it takes for me to rise from my coffin.
i wait for my tiny death... to grow.
to encompass.
to let me sleep.
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