Nights

Nights are eerily strange these days, the dark just doesn’t sit in. It hovers above like a vulture looking for prey. But I cannot feed it. Dreams do not die anymore; they do not exist. I can’t figure out the strangeness of it all; the dark, my erstwhile refuge refuses to sit by me, to wrap me in its fold. It rather lurches to peck me for something I do not have. 

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