Insomnia is my personal torture, knowing that I am completely and utterly alone with my thoughts. Nothing feels real; just duplicates of a fictitious thought. Here the connection between the real and the imaginary is a severed tie. No rules apply in this unearthly dimension where my mind reconstructs life events into one distorted image. This is what haunts my mind late at night; a fantasy prone personality.
Surfacing from sleep in the early hours of the morning is an abrupt and unpalatable ordeal, for which I would rather not frequent. However, at 3:15 AM on a particularly sultry night I found myself revisiting the enervating affair of insomnia.
A series of images darted before my eyelids like an intense slideshow, as a result unnerving
Surfacing from sleep in the early hours of the morning is an abrupt and unpalatable ordeal, for which I would rather not frequent. However, at 3:15 AM on a particularly sultry night I found myself revisiting the enervating affair of insomnia.
A series of images darted before my eyelids like an intense slideshow, as a result unnerving