I see stars on the ceiling, oh, it’s probably a mistake for I have not slip into sleep. A gush of warm air from the fan that serves as a counter-reality as I try to enter sleep in reality. Mistaking the firm sheets of the bed for a soft touch among a carpet of grass. Oh boy, entering sleep can be such a nuisance, for all the sheeps have already crossed the fence, and I get left behind. Perhaps this writing might stir up my dire need of sleep, or maybe pave a way for my thoughts to proceed. Pancakes, or even roti prata may have already been flipped till both sides are burnt, and I am still here flipping about my bed, thinking I should have mine with eggs next morning. If there’s a train to sleep, I did be on my way. Oh blog oh anyone out there, who’s suffering the same way? Oh man oh man, regardless of what I write, I am still here, awake.
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