Slowly. All At Once.

Sunrise is in 1 hour and 41 minuets.
The room is eerily quite.
I am in control. I am in control.
Complain to who, ask it why.
What is it, what's the question.
The sleep closes in. Silently.
It rushes through the brain.
A distant laugh, the knowledge.
The knowledge that.
That they're still out there, not feeling
that you.
That you.
What you feel for them. Be it anger.
It's anger. Fragmented anger.
Ask it why? Sunrise is when.
Sunrise is when.
Did I just crash. How do I?
It rushes through the brain.
Green eyes, staring out of the mirror.
They're angry of course. Be it anger.
Slowly turning, drifting, closing sleep.
Knowledge that they're.
Am I awake yet or am I dreaming?
Are you? I don't know anymore.
Please sir, tell us your location.
Something interrupts the quite,
the eerily quite.
Sunrise is when.
Sitting in the shadow, always at
night. Always in the day.
That you feel.
There is no scream. No birth.
Or death, or ending. It just is.
Complain to who? As it why?