Person in the Mirror

Reflections on the life of Weejars

This room is hot

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This room is hot.
As I open the door
The air is thick
And envelops me
Like a blanket.
I rush to open the window.
It is a sash
And threatens to come downimage
Like a guillotine
I prop it up with my drink bottle
It is a fair trade
No hydration in exchange for
Fresh air and a cool breeze.
But the air is still.
I wait and wait.
No sweet cool relief in sight.
I doze into a sweaty REM
And awake, hair plastered to the pillow.
Why is there still no air?
It is 3am, 4am, 5am.
When will the humidity break?
In the sweet dawn as an
Unknown bird starts mewling
And the light peeps through my curtains
I suddenly feel it.
And I wonder,
Why did I bother leaving the window open all night?

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