Why does my mind examine itself when my body begs for sleep? Thoughts churn and collide violently in my fatigued and dissipated shell while whatever silent existence lies dormant between attempts to console those recklessly blunt and ludicrous fantasies. Slowly my body is seduced into them too, coaxed out of its respite and captivated by the ambitions of, not my mind I realise, but my heart. And slowly the potion of my tears drags me under the consoling duvet, until the next bittersweet night.
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