the sky is journeying through its metamorphosis
transforming from black to blue
about 75./. done with this "fragment"
called morning
and the birds are yelling their secrets
their prayers
the music playing in my cluttered head
is a nice mix of
Jimi and Emiliana
and then some
my eyes have gotten weary
of facing the ceilings direction
just not
weary enough
to shut
my mind's sharp corners
reek of leftover
spanish castles
and stardust
the people are
waking up
while I am just
merely awake
and I think
someone's definitely blazing outside my window
and I think
I don't really mind
perhaps
the linger of the smoke
will
sing lullabies to me
transparent enough
to snake into
the switch of my consciousness
and flick
the slumber mode
on
and then
maybe
just maybe
I can slip into a nice
coma
and pay my debts
to the hours of cinematic
dreams lost
still
for some reason
I'm OK
with your absence
right now
I'll have plenty of time to sleep
when I'm dead
anyways