2 a.m.

I’m clocked in, 
ankle twisting beneath the sheets, 
weary heart thudding away in my chest,
unchosen rituals.  

I’ve got the blankets pulled up past my
eyes,
knuckles wrapped tightly under my
pillow.
I can’t sleep through the cries,
the distant screams of agony.  

There’s no solace here, 
no comfort, 
when you’re on night duty 
for the worlds conscience. 

I lie here, 
watching it snore, 
and half consider 
putting it out of 
its misery. 

BIATA

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