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Awakening

Smothered under silken dreams. Surrendered. Awash in snores.
Privately bold in sleep time stories that are never told.
Slashed across from side to side - shock tactics. Digital attack.
False sing-song tune a sick camouflage... crouching, waiting to pounce on my thudding chest.
Wide eyes, gasping, dry throat, plea for mercy croak. 'Hello... Yes... um, speaking...'

too cheeky? Or does it strike a chord? I HATE late night phone calls!

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