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Here in the dark, awake

I am a room on fire

on the thirty-first floor,

the crest of a waterfall

with nothing to grab,

there’s a glaring torch

and it’s found my back.

I am falling

and there’s nowhere to land.


My mind is gritted with fear.

There may be no comfort

when I carry broken glass,

no open arms

when I wilt to the ground,

I need to hold a hand

but these gusts are too strong.


I’m left lonely,

no answer to open,

I am lying below a tipping crane.

Background: When I like awake in bed sometimes. It's the fear of what might happen next.

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