Counting Sheeps

Five in the morning and wide awake.

Enveloped in darkness.

Small drops of rain outside yet no breeze.

None today. 

None tonight.

It is as humid as with the afternoon sun.

I perspire.

The gentle ramblings of the fan, steady and soothing,

as it kisses the heat off my moist skin.

In the still blackness I see nothing

Yet all my senses are excited with every sensation that comes for me.

I itch.

I smell alcohol, like fire that wants to rage within me.

Shatter me from inside and release my soul.

Be free. Fly. Do something.

Fly away and find your passion.

My ears hear nothing, no voices. I am alone.

I rest my aching back against the earth.

It is divine and needed. 

I close my eyes but is awakened by

the sound of rain getting louder and louder outside.

Spatters. Waters splashing against the roof.

A welcomed rhythm to break this night of silence.

It gets louder like laughter then gets soft as murmurs.
Alternating tempos.

I shut my eyes  to appreciate this music
pray that Hypnos come take me.

Away.

I yawn as sleep creeps in, like a stealth thief in this darkness.

Sleep, make me dream tonight.

Dreams, they are always empty. Always short.

Always devoid of meaning.