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Nightstand

Nightstand


There are pills under my nightstand.
The same ones tearing holes all over the house.
They’re tucked away in darkness and dust, forgotten caverns that only I can enter.
The same ones that wake us at night.

They scream from their hiding places, echoing vibrato shedding dust from our old drywall.
The same ones that reach my mother.
They make her feel lost, like she sees paths to something shameful and can’t find any others.
There are pills under my nightstand.