Late in the evening I cannot sleep. Counting sheep means nothing to me. I’m sad all the time. Anxious about the times to come. I’m alone and horny sometimes. I need someone to hold me at night.

Dreaming is my escape. Places imagined and people I’ve met countless times. Nothing real, but it doesn’t matter to me.

I’m waiting for something which I don’t know. I’m considering my options when I have none. Can you help me now? If you want to help me now.

Categories: writing

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