Night

Could you believe that I used to fly? 

I used to actually go somewhere in my dreams. 

Now I awaken and pull my comfort up around my chin. 

Linger in the warmth of the dark. 

I used to be summer

strawberries 

sunshine. 

Now I scream my way out of nightmares. 

It's so unusual- my skin. 

Is it me, 

or is it holding me within? 

This poem is about: 
Me

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