Eyelids peeling apart
like wet glue,
I stare
at the iridescent
glow of plastic stars
affixed by a child.
My brain’s candle
flickers to life,
kindles imaginations:
Rhysa’s fighting a spider,
I paint ideas, and
Aelin Galanthynius
comes to life.
The flame illuminates
innumerable memories:
Connor’s proposal,
Mom and Dad’s divorce,
Grandpa and Milo’s death.
The flame sputters with
a gust of dreams as
yesterday’s thoughts escape
their cryptic confines.
Exhausted, I pull
the blankets tight,
try to snuff
remaining embers,
and slip into a
nightmare as
the dull star-glow
fades
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