There they are again, like two crows cawing on the washing line.
The double twos come to me always;
Here, there and here again.
They prise my weary eyes open in the early hours when my heart pounds and I speak in tongues. Their light projects with an endless muted warning.
They observe with their beady all knowing eyes, looming above, transparent and magnified, pecking the endless sphere now and then. They chip away at my sanity.
They peek through curtains and perch on fences when they’re not swooping and stabbing against the watery sky.
22 here, 22 there.
They shriek with victory and cackle with every misfortune. They beckon from unknown places, two dark relentless figures who drag me from place to place with my unravelled thread in their beaks.
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