I’ve gotten pretty good,
at tricking my self to sleep,
make believe i’m really tired,
and how i really want those dreams.

Everyone else is sleeping,
or trying to be awake,
but here i am now,
consciously alone.

The ambient noises,
and vibrant colors,
of shapeless existence,
and indeterminable wealth.

somber scents,
and weightless thoughts,
about heroes dead,
and gone.

As time slips by,
i am only aware,
as best i can be,
of these breaths.

As it is,
Inspiration being,
the only thing,
which hasn’t left this eve.