the calendar tapered to my bed-frame hangs low and remains unused

Sleep is flitting, though I long for it to caress me

The dim glow of my monitor engulfs my jaw, the rim of my glasses,

they sulk from my face

Equally in wait of sleep to fall.

squinted eyes press tiredly into the back of my skull.

i drift inwardly.

Speaking verse in a noiseless enfoldment

with a pen never quite able to kiss the parchment of strewn-about paper.

Cupping the hollow of my cheek

and speaking sweet nothings to my own ear.

I am cloaked in the indenture of sweet lies

I shudder at the warmth of my own breath

sometimes forgetting to breathe.

I flinch at my moon-laden skin

not yet bathed in the tongue of the sun.

I laugh silently at the dryness of my mouth.

longing for the morning glow to take shelter in my room.

but it never does.

I couldnt possibly allow it to peel back my frail curtains

or sever the blackness that pierces the hull of this room.

It passes and i stare wearily.

awaiting tomorrow

For its lack of remittance.

I only wish to let you partake in my solemn remarks

to grasp a warmth unbeknownst of ruinous await.

But, like the sun

you soon shall pass.

basking idly until the moon strives to take your place.