Wouldn’t make it.

So I curl up with my blankets
Another night I wouldn’t make it
To bed, before 3 am

Tiptoe up the back stairwell
My stomach hasn’t faired well
A long days toll, taken

Sitting alone, underneath
What felt like little spotlights to me
Singing not so softly to the not so present crowd

Before I curl up with my blanket
Another night I wouldn’t make it
To bed

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