Sleep does not come swiftly to those
like me who sit awake late into the
morning, with nicotine tattooed into
their fingerprints and beer water-falling
down their throat. This has never been
a romantic way to live; a face full of
worry lines way too young, hands
always shaking even without a trigger.
I wonder if you know how your
silence screams in my sleep,
how your face still appears in
these nightmares I so terribly
want to call dreams.
— claustrophobia // Haley Hendrick