Between
I’m in the place between places,
in the hours between days,
on a highway that goes on and on,
waiting for a bus in the rain
in Alice’s purgatory,
a lonely wonderland lacking wonder
where it’s perpetually 11:59 PM
on February 29th
in a year that isn’t really a year,
and in the nights when the moon doesn’t shine
and darkness shrouds the scene
from gray to black,
I’m lying in bed alone
next to a woman I don’t know,
and I’m breathing,
but not really alive.
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