I must be experiencing some kind of sleep disorder. Too much on my mind, and always I cannot help but bite my tongue. If I had wings, they might very well be useless. Overcome under the afternoon sun, and for just a frame, I slept for eternity. He with the disfigured knee whispered "it was only for a moment". I'm trying to distinguish the difference, I'm trying to sleep. While the heat, rough concrete surface soothes my cold skin, and I feel as though I'm melting, a river now beneath me as he lifts me to my feet, and I'm flushed away, still wide awake. Worse, I cannot write. As the minutes turn to hours the days fade into the background, and I forget myself, desert myself, succumb to the scrutiny of every twinkling eye in the dark indigo sky. There must be hundreds of abandoned words, for what part of me surrenders. Little glowing embers they linger, and as the smoke consumes me, chokes what last breath I'd take to keep my light ablaze, I forget, again, and again I forget. What else but the honest, could anyone ask for. What but the true however frightful, appalling the face under the guise, there must be a beauty that lies inside the sordid house built to hide the shadows. Sleepless, the stars have left the eyes, another sunrise, another storm. Charcoal skies will cry, away with yet another day. Nothing like that unfaithful, pure, changing bipolar nature, the one thing I can count on.
