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Her Windows

It is nighttime when the ideas start coming to her
They tap on the edges of her consciousness, and when they bounce off they make a sound like rocks bouncing off her windows
Like the ones the boy down the street used to throw
And she'd liked that a lot, but she never went outside to him
And he called her a tease and stopped wasting his pebbles.
But all of those thoughts take up that role and they bounce around in her head
Tappity-tap-tap-tappity
Until they break her windows
And she picks up a shard of the window in her mind
And contemplates the repair of it
Torn between needing to keep out the chill
And wanting to find out exactly how deep she would need to bury the glass in her wrists
To be able to fall deeply asleep
In spite of the wind coming in through her windows.



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