I Just Yawned.

I just yawned.

Honestly, the worst part of pulling all-nighters is when my stomach gets toxic and threatens to slowly scrape away at itself until it can't carry out its function.

The orbs beckon me to rest. Likewise, I beckon then to stop complaining. They inhabit the scull of my skin suit. Leeching off of my earned nutrition. Yet, they have the nerve to act like they can dictate my bedtime? They may provide one of five senses, but I can and will survive with spite and muscle memory.

I'm crawling through your kitchen window as you read this. Your eggs are mine.

Chicken nuggets.

There it is, the inspiration that alluded me all day. As sleep claws at your existence, you slow. However, my pace does not cease, for night adds but a grain to the vast land of desolace and tumble weeds.