Veranda
Just imagine it. Feel your skin creeping down your eyes, your scratchy cheeks, the hardened tips of your fingers. Everything slowly goes, and its this thick batter of sleep that fills the space between your palm and cheek. You say and feel nothing as you sit in the golden light that shoots at you in the night. He just walked past. The wind changed and the corridor filled, taking in his essence with yours. The sounds of the highway peek in through the scant trees, reminding us that they are still there. Taste the bitterness of the leftovers in your mouth as spit floods the caverns to tide away. You can now sense the flaky skin at the corners of your lips falling away. The Autumn has arrived and I have still not slept and I do not know why. Try to fight it. Fight it! Battle! Win! The night is not the time for peace. Nothing ever settles for even dust flies in the night with the constant kicking and the stepping and the wind blows through the corridor, leaving it cold again. Dreams ...