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minutes pass by like slow molasses, dripping off the clock onto my eyes.
it’s a slow moment, a long august month of endless discomfort.
asleep in your beds, you dream and ramble, incoherent images, flickers resonating, fleeting.
awake at my desk, words leaping, flying, typing a hailstorm of letters.
type, type – delete, backspace backspace – everything that’s honest is everything that’s horrid.
if you knew what i thought of you, you’d crawl into your shell.
that place of regularity and hypocrisy, now don’t you look so good? now… don’t you look so good?

all i want is my bed. safehaven, comfort, release at the end of the climactic day.
fall into a sea of pillows, float on billowy mattresses, sink deep into thoughts and dreams.
no thoughts plaguing, no memories drawing and tugging, anchoring me to reality.
no one to annoy me, nails on a chalkboard, reminding me of younger years, childish, immature.
just adrift in the relaxation of knowing nothing but a soft sleep and dewey dreams.

climbing in the chair, a struggle to stay atop a mountain of exhaustion.
keystrokes neverending, slumping, drifting, sliding, reeling
into that deep, black place.

there will be no consumption tonight.
sleep stays at the distant door.
locked, yet knocking.

i simply stare.