My sleep was strained in a sieve
And strung together carby and complete,
Waiting to be seasoned with doubts
Like salty hair, silky matted down.
You're wet with inspiration,
You're dripping into an ocean of
Bleached fiber and hesitation.
These names don't make sense
Due to a fever that persists,
You're running numb in the cold
To feel the things that don't exist.
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