THE BIRDCAGE.

Half-past the stroke of midnight, I maintain a stony gaze into the white wall. It offers no reprieve to calm my sense. A general malaise is upon me. And, it is the white wall and me. The mind wanders slowly, idly back into lassitude. A general malaise is upon me. I cannot dive into sleep. My mind won’t permit. I have already spent the afternoon in such territory. And I am too encumbered to be social. I want to wander into a deep ditch. The prison of the mind is a brutal incarceration. We’re still breathing. Sleep will dawn upon us in time.

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