Got that messy morning make up mask, the inevitable bags and pillow lines engrave the places on my face, where I slept soundly for but a moment. Where things might have been calm for just a second. Head was quiet cause you can’t dream, when there’s nothing you can reach for, and you can’t dream when the dreams never seem to stay in tangible condition. So sleep it off, everything that hurt yesterday, might seem more simple when you wake up until 10 minutes after your eyes open and you realize its 14 hours since things were bad and things are the same as when they were bad, and things are bad again. Because sleep separates the days by dreams to give to give our mind a break, but what if we can’t dream. Pretends to be a working calendar, when in subtle actuality your life might just be one long brush stroke. What happens when there’s no paint. What happens now.