Rewind

Hand cannot grasp thin air
Midnight voices have taken their toll
I count the words with careful precision,
But the crumpled paper pile builds up on the floor
An unseasonal wind blows
I have felt like this somewhere before
On a night similar to this,
Quiet and judgmental,
Slowly receding towards the light
Growing unbearable by the minute
So I gather my oddities,
And escape through the window
The fall will not kill me,
But the landing might not be so kind

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