Breathe. While the seconds slowly congeal into a frame of time where you revisit repeatedly, bright white lights emanating pulses of dread, carelessness and love in unequal portions, shifting as the night shifts, sending signals to sailors lost at sea.
Taking Ovid to bed means waking up almost the same. Sleep is my greatest crime a painless murder, undiscerning, uncompromising. In the dark of night we lie awake and die a little slicing the silence of solitude with sorry suppositions. Take flight, light in the fiber of our cumbersome existence, insistence of chaotic consciousness, restless reality, combating frailty.
Don’t wake me I feel like sleeping in, says the sleeping beast in his sleepless dreams.