I must have made a pact with my eyes during the little rest I get that forever tired is the new black and I must wing it every single night I stay up until I'm sick of the sweetness from the bulleit seeping into my skin I think of them and what's next and never send that text. I close my eyes and let it be and hope tomorrow will let me sleep.
Some days there is an ache That ripples through my soul like an echo in an empty cave. Where it started, I'll never know But it seems endless on my empty days.