While you were sleeping
My candle flickered and
Burned to a puddle in the sconce.
I squeezed every last drop of light
And ink onto the page.
You turned over, and my heart
Went still for a moment
As that flame, at last, gave out.
In those borrowed hours
My eyes sunk, I was short on credit
For sleepless nights,
Feverishly writing
In hopes that I could redeem myself
With eloquent, empty words
That I tried so hard to believe
Were my own.
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