washed over

i thought i could put myself to sleep but there you go rushing through side streets, rising from the sewers, catching the rest of the sky and taking it with you into the gaps between the doors and the walls. slowly you reach for the first flight of stairs, inching your way to the top of the fridge and the cabinets. scaring them away, pushing them towards the ceiling, higher if they could find a place to stay, to hold their weight, to keep them from you. restless you seep into every nook, every surface of the city. from the walls of the sea and the floors of the rivers, to the palms of hands that wait behind lit windows, and even cheeks hide under pillows to muffle the sounds you running across the roofs. the city is being cleansed, is it right? what else will be wiped off at the end of the night?

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