Midnight Oil

Another night, come and gone

Another night vanquished by day

Another night I’ll never get back

The clock is mocking me

I’m staring at the freeway of my mind, a pretzel of overpasses, underpasses, onramps, exits. They crisscross, intersect, disconnect. Is it an excuse or a condition? Just pick one. Pick a lane and don’t look back, but I can’t. I sit here. Paralyzed and brain dead. The digital numbers are laughing. I’m white knuckling it, as they cackle like lunatics.

“You lose again, mortal!”

Why can’t these f@#king books just write themselves?

One response to “Midnight Oil”

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