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Oct 2019
I wake from a dream,
A dream in which I can sing,
My voice gritty yet powerful,
My chest full as the lights come in,
I go to speak in the waking world
Just a shiver of my sleeping sound falls out.
I am weak,
I am empty,
I am confused,
I am quiet,
My voice carries no further than the ring in my ears,
A chorus of noise crashes through me, unfiltered,
My walk and sound fades in rhythm and meaning,
I imagine my tired voice using the right words at the right pitch, tone, and timbre.
I lay down,
I do not sleep,
I do not cry,
I do not sing.
Kenn Rushworth
Written by
Kenn Rushworth  North
(North)   
77
   Aparna
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