Under the night filter
I lie awake
in hibernation

the blossoms on my skin
dusky grey, luckily
I think that, still can think

something, that's all
and the itching continues
to plague me in my head

where I can't reach it
I can only wait
until it is dissolved

and I feel again
like having cake, luckily
I can bake it myself

when I have the energy
and my thoughts
find the words again