My sister is dead. How can I sleep?

The thought plagues me as I try to close my eyes. My sister died. My sister, she died.

The words don’t seem real, yet they’re all too familiar like I’ve rehearsed this moment in my mind another time, another place. Did I? Or do we really live in the matrix in some twisted, fucked up time and space

Continuum. That was a good show.

Please read my rhymes, please hear the flow.

In my words.

I write because I’m afraid to speak even though speaking would give me some plausible deniability. Well…

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