The bright, white, fluorescent lights could be electricity's eyes.

They blink at me when I let go of sleep and watch me when I'm incredibly weak, when I'm just too tired to speak.

Sometimes I think the sun should be shining a quarter past midnight for us sad, dark souls still alive.

Sometimes the sun sets expectations the moon cannot reach, so the sun fools it into thinking it's got some light inside.

I don't like the sun. I don't like what I've become. I think it's easier to rest my tired eyes at sunrise.