Dormance…

Seconds, minutes, hours, days…

All pass in an unmindful haste…

Time plies it’s trade in mysterious ways…

Plans, schedules, dates…

All of it a fucking waste…
Bed beckons like a serenading lover…

Eyes dance on the ceiling like a drunk rover…

Seeing through the blades of the languid fan…

Lost in some thought…

Or some memory wrought…

On the horizon of your ever tempestuous mind…

And thus you unwind…

Obliviating everything behind…

Every chore, every job, even mom’s call…

Comatose, like a pall…

Over the sarcophagus of your will, your vitality…

And you’re lost in the surreal ethereality…
Aimless, listless, hapless…

Squirming alone in your own distress…

Loads of things to do, lots of dreams to realise…

All of them rotting under the scorch of your needless, maniacal surmise…
It’s not slumber, you wish it could be…

It’s a trance, stupor, where time stretches and loops and waves…
Dormance is crippling, enticing, mortifying, stupefying…

And it’s there, always, lurking…

Right behind your conjectures…

With your outlandish adventures…

Ready to ensnare…

I know it’s hard to get up and blare…
But like it or not, it’s the only way…

So get up, clench and bay…

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