The rain patters like machine guns
unleashing a salvo at the gates of repressed memories and long forgotten pain.
Winds screeching like nails on a coffin,
restless and warm
rolling buried under covers.
Somber sounds of slumber abound like a macabre symphony
that pulls the heavy lids wide open
with a tangible dread of the uncertainty of morning.
Then quiet as if Death breathed silence into life.
The cacophony of thoughts and regrets vanish like wisps.
Sleep.
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