Night Fever

It holds me through the night like the colour of madness,

A thin and odourless sweat that drips from a cold place,

Curled up and bare I feel it all over not unlike sadness,

From my stiff toes to my aching back even to my cut off face,

It finds me there deep in that place of wandering thoughts,

Which get hunted by hairless creatures that feed on sleep,

Across soaked fields in floating lands in battles of all sorts,

It is here too, washing away what I’ve lost and cannot keep,

It mixes amply with the air that I breathe without choice,

Rising wetness that condenses on the path that I’ve travelled,

Through a life of dreams so loud they make an unheard noise,

Something of a disturbance to the wakefulness that I’ve channelled…

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