love in a jersey mall bathroom
insomnia
Creeping. Insidious. Emptying drop by drop, my vessel of life leaks. It is 5.34 am. Like yesterday. Like it will be tomorrow.
Three a.m. is the true witching hour - so described as the opposite hour to which Christ was born. Demons cavort at this hour - I have seen them. Inverted shadows on the road at night while driving at this horrible hour, an inverse trip made increasingly monotonous by it's cycle. Mind wandering - shimmering whitish trees, bridges dissappear when approached. Eyes start to roll, snapped back by the humanoid figure jumping into the road. Discorporal, vanishing just at the point of impact. Traveling this path a thousand times so far this week. Yet this stretch is unfamiliar.
Pavement stretches and contracts in mockery of perception - I swear I've never seen this part. I almost miss my turn. Just a few more miles, I can sleep. Each grainy hill prompts me to adjust the vertical hold, increasing the difficulty level at every rise. Level 12, home. 2,000 point bonus and another day to live. Step, fade, step.
Once inside and safe, I can never seem to unwind enough to rest. So I ramble like an idiot in my journal until it is time to meet the demons once more.
Creeping. Insidious. Emptying drop by drop, my vessel of life leaks. It is 5.34 am. Like yesterday. Like it will be tomorrow.
Three a.m. is the true witching hour - so described as the opposite hour to which Christ was born. Demons cavort at this hour - I have seen them. Inverted shadows on the road at night while driving at this horrible hour, an inverse trip made increasingly monotonous by it's cycle. Mind wandering - shimmering whitish trees, bridges dissappear when approached. Eyes start to roll, snapped back by the humanoid figure jumping into the road. Discorporal, vanishing just at the point of impact. Traveling this path a thousand times so far this week. Yet this stretch is unfamiliar.
Pavement stretches and contracts in mockery of perception - I swear I've never seen this part. I almost miss my turn. Just a few more miles, I can sleep. Each grainy hill prompts me to adjust the vertical hold, increasing the difficulty level at every rise. Level 12, home. 2,000 point bonus and another day to live. Step, fade, step.
Once inside and safe, I can never seem to unwind enough to rest. So I ramble like an idiot in my journal until it is time to meet the demons once more.