[Polonius said to thine own self be true]


Something quiet sleepscreeps and sleepscreeps 
soundless as a fuseoh, I can’t go to sleep. Sleeps 
with eyes wide open, it doesfar away it looks in slumber. 
Creeps me the hell out. Can’t sleep. I’m wrapped up 
in a twilight tinted corner, not a peepwhite moonlight 
falls across the bedlazy laying on the blankets, 
inching closer to the toes upon my feet. 
And the thing that creeps without a peep is 
everything in this room. Thick and present, and heavy 
on my chestin the corner, I pull my feet beneath the sheets. 
I shudder. 

Its eyesthey peek past everything while it sleeps.  
They twitch round and peek as I hug my knees and weep. 
Everything is naked, struck with moonlight, grey and bright 
it creeps, and creeps, and peeks inside and knows everything in sight. 

The door, I know, is locked. I weep. 
And out the window is silver light forever. It creeps in its sleep 
though it looks dead—its eyes lay open as it peeks. 
It peeks at everythingeverything!without a peep. 

“Good God,” I say and lay down. 
“Oh, God,” I sayand pull from my feet, above my head, the sheets. 

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