As the sun flees,
Over the crest of the earth,
Commanding the light to charge forth
And drawing darkness over our perspective,
I lie still
Watching the shadows on my ceiling swell,
And filling my lungs with their cool smoke.

Hearts weary drink in the fumes,
Plunging into narcotic sleep,
And escaping the lash of light's reality,
In the comforting delusions of night.

But my own humming heart stirs still.
Darkness painted wildly accross my brain,
I burn black,
And repell the white hand of respite,
Flying low
And swathed in starry cloak.

Fruitlessly reaching for her tailcoats,
She eludes me,
Fluttering just beyond my grasp.
Her sweet breathe haunts my cheek,
And I pine desperately for her touch.

Once again thwarted by the inability to slow,
I thrash,
Sick of the still,
Sick of the quiet.

I claw the air
Grasping for a footbold,
Something to pull the sun,
Rose cheeked and bleary eyed,
Back to me,
And with its streaking yawn
Return the world to the bustle,
That never left my limbs,
And stranded me,
For the eternity of black hours
Conscience
And pressed by night's heavy breathe.