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 ^{(it's beta!)}

Your eyelids are heavy.

Your feet and legs are heavy, probably wet.

The computer or the clock or a plane or the goddamn crickets monotonous drone is unbearably loud in the midst of the cold silence.

Either your head or the world is spinning way too fast.

Every one here is drunk off something: sleep deprivation, alcohol- maybe they're high on life or GOD.

Regardless, at 3am the whole world is drunk, stumbling on words, dreaming or muttering truths they won't accept come morning.

Mentally highlighting ideas like car ads in a folded up newspaper.

Circling the unattainable self you long to be, grasping at nothing- the air, layered with smoke, over and over..

Smoke and mirrors are all these nights will ever amount to; alone and lonely and exhausted without ever moving from your throne, your drunken and desperate solitude.

Inspiration only comes in hindsight; only through speculation afterwards do the words and the thoughts and the near poetic penciled cries for help or attention carry significance.

Then, Nothing.

Nothing exists in present tense.

And what a scam the present is.

Neither here nor there, unable to be captured- even in a photograph.

Time is backwards or maybe it's you but something is definitely backwards.

The present tense is about as real as your dreams or UFOS or GOD to the unbeliever.

Inspiration will always come at odd hours.

The world will always spin until it doesn't and so will your head.

give in to your drooping eyelids.