I’m tired. And I am needing and I am wanting. oh god am I wanting, of what I’m not quite sure. Another complicated emotion I can’t reach to describe. Drowsiness batting my hands away like a disgruntled child as I go grabbing towards any kind of description. Much too involved of a task, so I’ll just stare at myself from somewhere else in the room, or so it feels. I am tired. I should sleep. But my bed is fussy, annoyed of the corpse it keeps carrying. Surprised no one seems to mind that this is no place to die. I am wanting. Wanting so desperately something I’m not allowed in sunlight and not getting in moonlight either. Funny isn’t it? If I’d die and become a ghost I’d feel the same as I do, flesh and blood, sitting here now. I am bleeding for something. Something that makes a difference. I shouldn’t feel the same. Will I stay this way? stay forever wanting? shall I stay?
