One Hundred And Twenty

Each blade of grass shivered as the wrath from the brisk sky fell upon its cozy slumber. The darkened air smiled at it’s fragile disappear. I watch out my window in result of my insomnia; my brain has become numb to my numbing prescriptions, and my body feeling no reason to sleep since there is not enough time in a lighted day. Steaming from anger the solid gravel resists the uncomfortable smoothness each tiny piece of ice forces in it. A giggle forming on my tongue now as I realize the house in which I sit cannot ignite my wooden bones; rubbing in a way to do so, it instead causes splinters. The flickering moon whines for my attention once again for my voice to sing it to sleep and awaken the sun as a ritual; although, the abusive clouds formed a barrier cradling your face away from mine.

It seems as the clock ticks inside my head the next hour will never come.