Writing > Sleeping

Can't sleep, nothing new. The thoughts are flowing in a very "Fitter Happier" way. Here we go...

Here lies a tired and broken boy under a bunk, wearing his exhaustion on his face, medicated, mummified in sheets, preserved in the fetal position with wide eyes.

He watches the clock tick forward but knows it counts down. His time spent awake versus slept increases in exponents as weeks pass.

He feels lonely since Father Time and Mother Earth have departed with Morality's compass. They left no note, no tasks to be completed during their sabbatical, and no promise of return.

He spends these extended roused hours on a cause, directed, in the name of philanthropy. He no longer knows the goal but understands the magnitude. It and everything is much larger than he, the one with narrowing eyes in an uncomfortable heat under a child-strength sedative.