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phone rings...

When the phone rings in the night, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck leap to attention. My brain lights up like a department store Christmas display with circuits sizzling fast as a tilted pinball machine. I am on high alert baby, flight or fight chemicals racing through my blood freaked, fried, and tie dyed. It's gotta be bad news. Publishers Clearing house is not calling me at 2 a.m. My mind throws out a million tragic scenarios in the heartbeat it takes to pick up the phone. Someone's dead, sick, lost, didn't come home yet, in jail, in the hospital. Something is wrong.  I know this, I feel it and I'm right. It's a wrong number.

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( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
olbuksings
Jun. 14th, 2016 02:30 pm (UTC)
Oh yeah, know the feeling! Love the frenetic pace, the sort of red-to-purple prose which comes to a screeching stop at the last sentence. And how the heart keeps pounding with adrenaline overload for those few milliseconds after the irony of it registers...
rosegardenfae
Jun. 17th, 2016 02:28 pm (UTC)
Gosh, I love your comment. Tis a poem in its own right.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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