The Midnight Light
Burning the Midnight candle once more.
I am caught in this spiral of tiredness that I myself am perpetuating. I can't seem to break this cycle of late nights even though I suffer for it during the Sun's rays. I could possibly strive to break the habit, perhaps by reducing the caffeine I consume, however I delight in the cover of darkness and stillness that the midnight candle exudes. As for performance levels during peak times there is something certainly lacking. I am allowed only one to delight in, at the detriment and sacrifice of the other. I choose this one namely because this time is mine and the grains that are owned by light are ruled by a different master.
Sometimes I stare out in the wide blue beyond whilst having a cigarrette in the garden courtyard, located past the foyer and lifts to the eastern side of the building where I work. I ponder freedom at such times and whether in essence I am free.
There's a rail situated right on the eastern edge of the garden, before the building drops off onto the street below. The rail bears the resemblance of a bar not too disimilar to the familiarity of criminals, well perhaps it is a bar like a handrail but at times it takes on a grimacing and hostile bar of a gaol cell. I wonder am I free or merely a slave to the established norms. I need to earn money so that I may spend and consume and stay up burning the Midnight candle to play with an over glorified typewriter. However the cost of established normalcy is perhaps too high. It would appear to the sense of normalcy that the deeper I descend into the night the more that rail reminds me of a bar in a cell.
Perhaps it is the curse I reek upon myself. The curse of wax that burns at both ends until the inevitable faint twinkling of light is extinguished and I am forever born into the night and the darkness and the stillness of no more.
Will I now drag myself into the covers of sleep? Wait just one more click and then I will retire for the night. So the candle burns and I click and tomorrow the debt collector will knock at my red swollen eyes and my bones will creak with stiffness and my feet will fall in a mush of exhaustion while I click some more.
I am caught in this spiral of tiredness that I myself am perpetuating. I can't seem to break this cycle of late nights even though I suffer for it during the Sun's rays. I could possibly strive to break the habit, perhaps by reducing the caffeine I consume, however I delight in the cover of darkness and stillness that the midnight candle exudes. As for performance levels during peak times there is something certainly lacking. I am allowed only one to delight in, at the detriment and sacrifice of the other. I choose this one namely because this time is mine and the grains that are owned by light are ruled by a different master.
Sometimes I stare out in the wide blue beyond whilst having a cigarrette in the garden courtyard, located past the foyer and lifts to the eastern side of the building where I work. I ponder freedom at such times and whether in essence I am free.
There's a rail situated right on the eastern edge of the garden, before the building drops off onto the street below. The rail bears the resemblance of a bar not too disimilar to the familiarity of criminals, well perhaps it is a bar like a handrail but at times it takes on a grimacing and hostile bar of a gaol cell. I wonder am I free or merely a slave to the established norms. I need to earn money so that I may spend and consume and stay up burning the Midnight candle to play with an over glorified typewriter. However the cost of established normalcy is perhaps too high. It would appear to the sense of normalcy that the deeper I descend into the night the more that rail reminds me of a bar in a cell.
Perhaps it is the curse I reek upon myself. The curse of wax that burns at both ends until the inevitable faint twinkling of light is extinguished and I am forever born into the night and the darkness and the stillness of no more.
Will I now drag myself into the covers of sleep? Wait just one more click and then I will retire for the night. So the candle burns and I click and tomorrow the debt collector will knock at my red swollen eyes and my bones will creak with stiffness and my feet will fall in a mush of exhaustion while I click some more.
posted by TwistedTripper at 12:05 AM
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