She sits up at night
Moon makes her restless 
and beds give her nightmares, says.
So she smokes with the blade by the door.
Her feet dangle gingerly, 
flirting with the dark circles under her eyes.
'Babe, come to bed. You don't have to fight no more.'
A tired smile and iron grip,
hard earned and hard lost since the war.
'Sure, just a few more minutes,' says. 
It's been weeks since I hear...

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