I spread the sheet out
build my fort for the night,
for the week.
I cuddle under my insecurities,
heavy enough to keep
me shivering through the dark.
Every night at two am
the man in the apartment above mine
sings, his voice muffled through the
pipes and plaster of nyc.
Its been like this for a year.
I drift off to
The sound of resolve
Or is it sorrow?
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