Parched throats and pens.
Dishevelled desks and hairs.
Crumbled pages and thoughts.
Blackened erasers and eyes.
Wincing the Night Away whispers
some stifled headphone
connected to some dying iPod
buried somewhere in my
denim mountain on the floor.
"Eviscerate your fragile frame
and spill it out on the ragged floor."
The words kidnap my mind
away from my work
to a much needed sleeping lesson.
My head jerks backwards.
I am thrown back into reality.
My blackened eyes wander across my dishevelled desk
resting on my cellular connection to the world.
I hope desperately for some excuse for procrastination
But the screen remains unforgivingly black
Staring unforgivingly back
At my unforgivingly black eyes.
Still and silent.
My eyes stumble to the clock
"11:12" it scoffs.
Those 4 unholy digits
laugh at me behind their rigid black lines.
Still and silent.
Eleven-twelve.
I only want to
Wish the night away.
But I've just missed my chance.
One minute too late always comes too soon.
My eyes can't see what I'm sensing
So I'll have to settle with wincing.
