Days pass me by, the world a blur in the periphery.

Time in it's totality starts losing it's meaning, a fatality of necessity and bad judgement.

I need so much but manage so little




Sleep is fitful at best, a pause in activity more than rest in weariness.


Mark.

Dreams half awake, known for what they are but forgotten nonetheless

Mark.


***


Awake.

The waiting starts again, for something unknown.

Purpose, without which I will wither and wane.

Without reason I will lose what makes me more than just alive. Decay.


Mark.

My eyes close, a new world is built in the fraction of a fraction of a second.

Worries are lessened and pain is dulled, but not forgotten.

Even dreams are starting to lose their point.

Mark.


***


Awake.