When I’m tired, I don’t wash my face with faucet water. I drink coffee and fall back to sleep.
Big, blue clouds of forgetfulness overtake me. I fall onto my knees in a ball of shame, guilt, and confusion. Time passes, and my belly grows.
Emotions flair and compound and build into neverending suspense. My heart rate follows, to the beat, a skip here, one there.
I write and erase and destroy what I thought was a masterpiece. In retrospect, void of clutter and paper, it wasn’t that bad.
All I desire is sleep. Because today will pass, and perhaps tomorrow I’ll be closer than yesterday. But this hunger returns from its slumber, and I quench my thirst in repetition. The cycle continues.