Vining of Sore Eyes Past Hours of Mortal Chores

“You can sleep”, common sense has it out for me. As if I was unaware of the various plays I inflict upon myself!

“I know”, I lay back as I wait for a follow up which does not come. It knows that I know that it knows there is no definite reason as to why any creature would choose to inflame the fires in the pits of impious thoughts.

Ever since I filled the air with smoke for the hissing tongued man in ragged green-grey clothes, the world became a maze-like box. These walls are not as solid as they seem, I know. And the man must know that I know and will continue to find more nuances in the days to come.

Blessed be the fiend who hosts the venom of newfound hope! Let him work miracles if his name glistens in manners most favourable.

“Again, you can sleep,” common sense returns with visions of enticing shores.

“I would tell you to shut up, but I like you too much”, I sigh as I try to recall where I last saw my socks, “Twenty-four hours are not enough for all the hellish crevices I wish to explore”.

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