there is a clock next to my head where i lay down for the day. it ticks, then talks, without ever saying much. i listen and watch the nights go by. the conversation is always the same.

the dull night, always collapsing in on itself, farts me into the air of another hazy morning. the day begins a struggle, and by noon time the battle succumbs. another day gone, lost to the boss.

at night, as things fall away from what could be a productive day, the hunger sets in, leaving me to weak to move while the darkness rolls onto my chest, then ticks, talks.