Night—
The sound of cars drive by,
like the colour on the back of my eyes.
Thoughts they blab.
Blab, blab, blab as tomorrow calls.
I try to drown them.
Repeat episodes of old TV shows.
He tosses next to me. The sheets crumple.
I await the next sound of a car, but it doesn’t come.
It’s late.
Marker Art based on the above poem.
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