Writings

The night looms ever more menacing and slumber presents itself ever more comforting.  That comfort I must completely object and violently protest with each draught of determination my frail constitution and heavy eyes can inspire.  To sleep would seem so sweet, so serene, and so terrifying.  Entering that state of idle wonder, the little death guarded by the one ancients called Hypnos, will only hasten the coming of the dawn and a splendid sunlit glorious morn.  Dawn, the harbinger of the day to come, the glow of new opportunities to remind us of shattered dreams, comes with abject terror and sullen mood.  Each day, you see, begins with a lie.