Sleep
Head hits the pillow
and check lists no longer
form on ceiling.
Floor boards
no longer creak
under the pressure
of being alive.
Then world was gone like
a black hole swallowed it;
there's finally peace
But the alarm clock
jolted you out of bed
and onto the battle ground.
Revolver in hand,
chambers full.
Blindly shooting,
you fill yourself with holes.
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