Wake and the arm is cold again - outside the blankets
like it wants to escape the comfort
The arm wants to tell you something - you were sleeping and it has a message for you
There are marks along the skin - birth and otherwise
notice how uneven the color and the veins are so visible in the darkness
The sound of celery breaking
Knees collapsing on pavement and the glitter of light on everything
The arm wants you to remember fear and agency
there is the sound of a siren - it is the sound of all sirens - the room fills then empties of it
A moment before the most beautiful dream ever forgot - it lingers pinkly in the haze of the brain - calls in sing-song that it should be returned to
This arm has thoughts of going through the window - it cannot understand how one sleeps in troubled times like these - there should be blood on the steps of the capitol
Blood is hard to clean
If it is forced under the covers to warmth - the arm will form itself into a mouth and begin to whisper all the promises that have been broken
If it stays in the cold it will purple - possibly loose itself and never come back
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