That Bed of Nails

I often wonder how many people fear the pillow at night, where their justifications might do battle with their residual conscience.

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Each reason

Every point

And the blankets

Of justification

 

Eased sleep

As he shivered

January

Morning

 

The excellent

Spreadsheet

Of bullets

Fired off

 

Cold

Like blood

Without

A heart

 

Turn right

By write

And absolved

For ever

 

A box

In the corner

Locked, wounded

Conscience

 

A bed won

For dreaming

And gloating

And victory

 

Each reason

Every point

And the blankets

Of justification