Sleep is not an option anymore. The light scurrying across the white walls and ceiling, chased by the shadow that swallows the room whole.
It is heavy
It is oppressing
It is collapsing
And then it falls into itself, ceasing to exist while creating something new. But it is not a death that occurs. It may not even be dead, just awake, buzzing, cradling itself in its abysmal embrace.
Sleep was never an option.
YOU ARE READING
A few sentiments
PoetryEverything is in shambles, but that's just how it is with nonsense writings. It contains (very) short stories, poetry, and just words in general that are strung together and might or might not hold some meaning. Basically anything my sleep deprived...
