Am I ever awake anymore
Or do I ever dream at all
This war-torn landscape that is my mind finds no rest
I watch the clock tick by
A scout in infinite cubicle farms
One thousand, four hundred and forty
Instances of repetition
My numbed sense of excitement tingles as the clock reaches five
Ticking by each second turned to minute turned to gray
What happiness do I derive from completion of work
I sit sullenly watching sitcoms through red-rimmed eyes
I don't think I'll sleep again
I don't know if I have ever woken up
My reality is fading out to textured grays
Maybe I will fade out too
But night turns to day turns to ash
As I slowly count away
One thousand, four hundred and forty minutes left of consciousness