LATE

Midnight. Few minutes past.

And I’m still waiting. For the letter.

That you promised.

I hate timetables

I don’t like schedules

And my thoughts just become a knot of wires.

I hear the sound of green –

It’s my old clock.

It’s late. It’s early.

I don’t know now…

I click my fingers more and more

So loud, to make the mist be gone forever

The mist, the fog that made me blind

I click and click and click…

The sleep just killed me.

A headless dream.

– Chatty Owl –

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