I woke up. I didn't have to. You didn't have to offer me anything. I didn't do anything to earn it. In fact, much of my life is more evaporated vapors than glimmers of life shining in the shadows. I don't know why You do this, but it sure does help.
Why do I only ever seem to bleed at night. I can't be the only one who sits, lonely in the shadows. I can't be the only one here. The blank wall doesn't capture my reflection. The empty sheets are a greater reflection of my fulfilled purpose. I've woken up with enough time to tell myself I'll get up soon only to fall asleep while Saturn's rings spin around me.
You all spin around me. Though I endlessly search, I have yet to have found me. Pay 50 cents and try to grab me. I'm out of reach but not for lack of trying. Reaching for a hand when you're unconscious is less than grasping for straws.
Now I'm writing into it instead of writing out. When I'm too tired the ideas are flooded and when my fingers work the graphite in my mind needs sharpening. What gives?