tick tock.

tick tock.

i am too restless to sleep.

Rachmaninoff is playing in the background

it is 4:00am

the clock replies

before i’ve even had a chance to ask.

tick tock.

screams the ennui

screams the insomnia

screams the empty bottle of whisky next to me

lying there

useless and beautiful.

tick tock.

Rachmaninoff crescendos into

something

something that he makes me long for

something that i wish i was able

to make other people long for too.

something that

something.

tick tock.

is the sound of the liquid draining

as i take a long swig from epiphany

from the bottle of vodka i had forgotten about

until now.

tick tock.

Rachmaninoff segues into Op. 30 “Alla Breve”

the piano longs for the strings

the winds long for the brass

yet all i long for is sleep.

tick tock.

more vodka more inebriation

more inebriation more fatigue

until sleep is finally able to take me

is what is supposed to happen

is my rationality.

if only.

tick tock.

i take another drink.

now the vodka is half empty.

i feel good.

i feel happy.

i feel

everything but tired.

fuck.

tick tock.

screams the mocking clock.

the brass section enters at last

Rachmaninoff crescendos once more

the angry denouement approaches

in my head i can see the conductor sweating

i can see the solo trumpet about to have an aneurysm

tick tock.

drowns out the blaring euphoniums

drowns out the screeching trombones

drowns out the melancholy of the crickets

outside my window

outside this feeling

outside.

tick tock.

it asks.

glug glug

i reply.

tick tock.

Rachmaninoff finishes

the vodka lies empty

i can shamelessly admit

i am drunk.

tick tock.

i am too drunk to care.

too drunk retaliate

too drunk to sleep.

tick tock.

tick tock.

the nausea is nothing

i am nothing

nothing is anything

tick tock.

screams the fucking clock.

4:01am.

tick. fucking. tock.